


The Killing Machine

by Itenoria



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Alternate Universe - Human, Assassins & Hitmen, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, Guns and violence, M/M, Minor Character Deaths, Multi, You've been warned, but yeah this story's gonna be bloody, multiple - Freeform, the Whole Nine Yards, there's a ton of grey people, your faves aren't in plain black and white
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-11
Updated: 2018-04-07
Packaged: 2018-11-12 22:42:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 39,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11171601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Itenoria/pseuds/Itenoria
Summary: Two separate groups of assassins used to working on their own have to put aside their rivalry and differences to team up to take down the enemy who's put out a hit on all their heads and on the heads of everyone they love.





	1. Never Walk A Straight Line

**Author's Note:**

> Hello my lovelies :). 
> 
> So I promised you a multi-chaptered fic and here it is. It's multi POV so prepare for something quite sprawling. Hopefully I don't confuse the both of us. I made moodboard for the fic, and I kind of like it. Hope you do to.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Also, huge thanks to [Ana](https://twitter.com/latinalightwood) for reading through, loving it and giving me the nudge I needed to publish it. I love you to the moon and back, and more than plantain chips itself. And you know how much I love my plantain chips! Hehehehehehe.

There were two ways to kill a man. You could smile pretty at him whilst you slipped poison into his drink or stuck a dagger into his back—whichever you preferred—or you could face him one or one with a knife in each hand, stare him in the eyes as you stepped up to him and slit his throat.

Magnus Bane was quite familiar with both methods.

What he knew nothing about however was how to sustain the most boring date in history, long enough so he could choose if he would rather slit William Harrington III's throat or slip one of Clarissa's favoured poison in the man's scotch whisky. Whichever the option he chose though, it would at least give him the chance of ending the date.

Magnus reached for his bourbon and tossed down the glass in one gulp. He gestured at the waiter for another glass—the man responded almost immediately. Magnus would have been impressed but they were at Aureole and big bucks meant excellent service—and tried tuning out William's voice, even as he wrestled with the urge to unknot his tie and use it to strangle the man.

"You know it is said that when you drink that rapidly you run the risk of ruining your liver."

The glass that had been making its way to his mouth stopped in its tracks and Magnus raised a brow as he stared back at his  _ date _ . "Excuse me?"

"You should take more water. Keep things well paced. Pity your liver."

The only liver that needed to be pitied was William's as it was just minutes away from having Magnus' feet all up in it.

He gave a pointed glance at the glass of whiskey William held in his hands—his fourth for the night as against Magnus' second—but William maintained his oblivious streak and shrugged. He resumed his spiel. "So of course all the experts say that when you're thinking of buying stock, it's always about investing in what is familiar. Not venturing into the unknown. They do it because they're trying to prevent another collapse of the stock market. Don't want investors to become too leery about investing especially because the bozos that came before us came up with the most outlandish portfolio for them to invest in. It made perfect sense you know. You see, if those bozos had given some and taken some, things would have been much balanced…"

Magnus leaned forward and braced his cheek with one palm as he stared at William yapping on about portfolios and the stock market. Things that he had zero interest in.

This really was the worst date in history. And to make matters worse, his date  _ seemed _ oblivious to Magnus' disinterest.

Magnus remembered his father telling him about his face and how he never tried to hide things; could hear Asmodeus' lazy drawl at the back of his mind. "Too expressive. Your face is just too damn expressive Magnus. How do you expect to be any good at our work if you wear everything on your face for the whole world to see?"

Magnus snorted and shook his head as his lips pulled into a wry smile. If only  _ father  _ could see him right now.

"You like it do you?"

The words brought him out of the trance and he blinked at William who gave a smug nod. "It really is a fascinating thing. The regular man thinks he's smarter than us investment bankers but they really aren't are they?" William followed the question with a laugh so grating it brought to mind braying donkeys.

You know what? Apologies to the donkeys. Even they would find the sound irritating. And that piece of spinach caught in between the man's teeth didn't make it any easier.

"It was why I decided to move headquarters to Geneva. The Swiss know their money you know?"

_ Yeah. They also knew how to hide stolen funds from the rest of the world and be as stuck up and uncooperative as possible whilst the countries that had been stolen from wallowed in poverty and Switzerland got rich off the stolen wealth. _

Magnus sneered.

"Why? Do you have a problem with the Swiss? They're actually quite remarkable people."

"If you find the fact that they contribute to the sustained poverty of various third world countries remarkable. Sure," Magnus said, going for calm but well aware of the edge that had entered his voice.

William shrugged, looking very unconcerned. "It's a survival of the fittest game. You really can't blame the Swiss for accepting those monies. If those countries didn't have the common sense to hold onto their funds and stop the corruption going on in their countries, why should the Swiss not help out? Besides, it's how the world works. Some people have to stay poor for others to remain rich. That's life." He smiled.

Magnus smiled back.

_ Fuck this shit. There's no reason why I have to stay and listen to this bullshit. I can just reach out and slice his throat. Watch as he chokes on his own blood. Hear that whizzing sound as he dies. _

His hands started to shake. It was so close he could taste it. End this  _ date  _ on a high. It was what the dickwad deserved anyway. After all, some people died and some people lived. That  _ was _ life.

His phone vibrated for the fifth time since they took their seat. Trust his friends and their nosy asses not to mind their damn business. 

Magnus rolled his eyes.

A light ping brought his attention back to the phone and the new message blinking up at him from their chat.

_ Don't do it Magnus. _

**_Don't do what Maia?_ **

_ Don't kill him. Killing him in such a public place while you're on a date with him would draw too much attention to you. You know that. _

**_Yeah. But I can…_ **

_ No. Neither poison nor a stabbing would get you out of it. You know that! Plus you still need to get the case. _

Magnus sniffed. This was all Clary's fault. If she hadn't suggested he find his way into the man's good graces by going on a date with him so they could find out  _ when  _ William was picking up the oh-so-important-briefcase from his big brother, Magnus wouldn't be in this present mess.

He heard a sound and looked up from his phone to find William, phone held to his ear as he held out a finger to ask Magnus to excuse him and then he walked away.

Even before William was out of sight, Magnus plugged in his wireless earphones and made  _ his  _ phone call, well aware that he only needed to call one person to be connected to the group call giving minute by minute updates of his date.

“I will kill him.”

_ “ _ Think this through Magnus. If Maia with her love for blowing everything up is suggesting you restrain yourself, maybe it might be a good idea to listen to her?,” she ended the words with a giggle.

Magnus' eyes narrowed.

“Who are you to talk about restraint? You poisoned one of your lecturers on your very first week at school, Clarissa.”

“Well, in Clary's defense, he was a creep sleeping with his students for grades and he had Clary in his sigh”

Magnus rolled his eyes. Trust Simon to come to Clary's defense.

“True. But she didn't need to specially make a poison for him now did she? A poison that blackened his tongue, made him rot from the inside out until he was an oozing mess of slowly dying roadkill!”

Simon fell silent and just as Magnus smirked, Clary piped up.

“Yeah I did. And it was my proudest moment.”

She released a loud laugh and Magnus could just picture her with her head thrown back the way she always did when she was happy.

Magnus chuckled as he shook his head.

"What can possibly be so important or interesting?"

The stringent voice cut through his thoughts and Magnus stared up at William. Damn. He hadn’t even noticed when the man had returned. William though was scowling at him. "Excuse me?"

"Do you know how many men and women would kill to be where you are right now? On this date with me?" He gestured his arms out to indicate the entire restaurant and then settled into his seat. "I have more than enough money to buy this place. I am the real deal."

Magnus raised a brow. "Is that so?"

William grinned and leaned back in his seat, back to looking smug. "Impressed are you now? You now my father…"

Magnus tuned him out, picked up a napkin to cover his mouth with the slight hope that that would provide some sort of disguise and resumed his conversation with his friends.

“Can I at least cut off his tongue? No one would miss it. I certainly wouldn't.”

“No! On no account can you cut off his tongue. The man's too well known. Someone will notice if he's suddenly missing a tongue. And more importantly, It might jeopardize the job. Use your head Magnus.”

Magnus sneered. Trust Cat to come with her reasoning and coat it with thinly veiled insults. “Exactly how many people did you put on this group call Clarissa?” He grumbled.

“You can always slip a pack of coke somewhere on that suit of his,” Raphael piped in, not giving Clary the chance to confirm Magnus’ suspicions that she added the entire squad to the call. “Maybe slip it in his pocket? Make a call. Have him picked up for possession. Luke will toss  _ Dick _ in the slammer. I will pay him a little visit in there. Slice and dice him. Boom. Fucker's dead, you haven't compromised shit. You're welcome.”

Magnus rolled his eyes. The little shit. He could just hear the glee beneath Raphael’s droll voice.

“No. I will not use my badge to participate in such nonsense. No way will I bring the NYPD into your mess,” Luke said in the long suffering way of one who was tired of all the bullshit.

“Well then I will just go under your head and have Alaric do it then,” Raphael snapped. Magnus half expected him to blow a raspberry with how petulant he sounded but he didn’t.

“No way. I'm not helping you with this mess,” Alaric protested. 

Magnus snorted. Poor Alaric. How the hell had he been roped into the mess?

He heard a sound and turned to look at his date, amazed to find William leaning away from him with a handkerchief covering his mouth and his nose.

What the fuck?

"What are you doing?"

William gestured in his general direction. "I don't date sick people. I already told you." He tapped his forehead. "This brain has to be housed in the healthiest body ever. Nothing can contaminate it."

He could feel a tick at the corner of his eye but he controlled it. "I don't have a cold." William continued to look suspicious and Magnus huffed. "Really. No cold. But if you would rather not continue with this date," Magnus made to rise from his seat, "I am willing to oblige." 

God he hoped William would be a little snot and let him walk away, put them both out of their misery.

William chuckled and waved his hands. "Please. Like I don't know you've been dying to have this date." He waggled his brows. "You don't need to pretend. Your friend told me all about it."

What the?

"Not like I can blame you," William grinned. "I am a catch after all."

Magnus dug his fingers into his seat.

Fucking Clary laying it too damn thick.

He returned to the conversation, using his napkin to cover his mouth and caught the tail end of Alaric’s speech. “Besides, last time the time I asked you to help me take out my asshole of a landlord Magnus, you said and I quote ‘Your landlord's only guilty of being a greedy, stealing asshole and is neither a threat to your life Alaric, nor is he a threat to my livelihood.’ Well, William, just like Josh, is not a threat to your life or your livelihood Magnus, let him live.”

Magnus scowled. Fucker had probably been waiting for his chance to toss those words back in his face.

“Also, the nickname's Will or Bill. Not Dick. Dick's short for Richard. Not Willia, Raphael. You should know that.”

Raphael gave an incredulous snort. “Who gives a shit? White people and their weird ass nicknames that make no sense. I wasn't referring to some weird as nickname. I called him  _ Dick _ because he is a dick. Plain and simple.”

Magnus grinned.

“You know you could just act like a normal person. Get up. Head to the bathroom. Then come right back out and tell William that you have an early meeting tomorrow and can't stay. End the date. Trust me, he's probably just as eager to end it with how you're being such terrible company right now. Walk away Magnus. Just walk away.”

Trust Ragnor to come with his special brand of bland common sense.

“ Nothing interesting about that option though.”

“Well pardon me. Some of us have to act like  _ adults _ .”

Magnus stuck his tongue out, well aware that Ragnor couldn't see him, but taking delight in the act nonetheless.” He rose to his feet. "Sorry I need to use the bathroom. I'll be back."

He didn't wait for a response. Just headed straight to the restroom, walking around the servers and their platter of food, ignoring the customers whose eyes followed him as he walked by.

He closed the door behind him, ran the water in sink and stared at himself in the mirror. Stared at the winged eyeliner he'd painstakingly applied, the dark blue eye shadow that went excellently well with the blue streaks in his hair. The slight glitter he'd dabbed on that made his whole body sparkle. His midnight blue cashmere sweater paired on the lime green skinny jeans and black boots. Fuck he'd wasted a good look on an idiot.

He reached for some toilet paper and started to dry his hands when the door swung open and there William stood in the doorway grinning at him.

Magnus raised a brow and watched amused when William turned around and bolted the door right behind himself.

He turned around and met Magnus' eyes.

Magnus sighed and gestured at the door. "You're going to have to open that back up. I have an emergency to attend to and my friends are waiting for me."

William sneered and took a step closer. "Please. Do you really expect me to believe that? You wanted to go on a date with me so badly you asked your  _ friend  _ to give me your number after my presentation at her school. I brought you to one of the most expensive restaurants in the city, kept you entertained all night even though you were rude as fuck all through the date, and now you want to walk away?" He took another step forward. His grin grew wider. "So what? You just wanted to sneak off? Not even a kiss thank you or goodbye?"

Really, his job put him in the path of  _ idiots _ .

Magnus eyed the fucker from the bottom of his Testoni shoes up to the ill suited cut of blonde curls that framed the man's face and rolled his eyes.

He made to step around him, but William grabbed him, fingers wrapping around Magnus' bicep.

William's eyes widened.

Magnus stared back at him. "You really are stupid aren't you William Harrington III?" Magnus drew his foot back and stomped hard on the other man's foot, grinding the heel of his own boot into the soft pad of William's foot. He followed it with a quick punch to the man's stomach, sinking his clenched fist into the man's solar plexus, and whilst the idiot was still gasping for breath, he pushed the back of his elbow back and up, satisfied when he heard the crunch of his elbow connecting with William's jaw.

William crumpled to the floor.

Magnus rolled his eyes, sent a quick text to the chat and went back to the sink to wash his hands again. When he was done, he grabbed more of the toilet paper, dried his hands, stepped over the man's body, unlocked the door and walked away.

**_Just walk away indeed. I'm an assassin. Not a fucking saint._ **

* * *

She was mid gulping her coke when Magnus' message came in. Maia snorted, sending most of the coke splashing on the document she had in front of her and a very pissed off Gretel who glared at her.

"Sorry," Maia chuckled and handed her some wipes.

Gretel accepted it with a huff. "What's so funny anyway?"

Maia tossed her phone at her, giving a satisfied huff when Gretel caught it one handed. Gretel raised one well-plucked brow. "Seriously? What if I'd missed?"

"You? Miss? Pfft." She laughed and turned around to look through the printed records their client had emailed them in preparation of their job later that night. "Did 'K' ever say where we would most likely find Big Guy Moretti tonight? The bungalow or the townhouse?"

She got nothing but a hum and glanced up to find Gretel reading the text. Knowing Gretel, her nosy ass was probably scrolling up so she could get the entire gist from the beginning.

Maia shook her head, waded up a piece of paper and tossed it at Gretel.

Gretel caught it one handed, without looking up from the phone.

Maia sniffed. "Show off."

That finally got Gretel to look up. She gave a slight shrug and then sent Maia's phone flying right back at her. Maia caught it.

"I can't believe you actually thought he could walk away without hurting the dickwad. And it's the townhouse. The rest of the crew are all flying in and he needs the space."

Maia hummed and made her notes. "We didn't think he would have successfully pulled off not hurting the douche. We just hoped he would have enough restraint not to kill the fucker. Clean up would have been a bitch."

Gretel hummed. "Did he find out when Idiot III's picking up the briefcase from his brother before he broke the man's jaw?"

Maia shook as she pulled up a map for the area, making her notations.  _ Yes, that alley would be perfect to hide the car. Just a couple of meters away from the fire escape of that building.  _ "Nah. But checked the appointment on his phone  _ after  _ he'd knocked him out. Idiot III," she chuckled at the nickname, "is picking it up tomorrow evening. And then taking it straight home to keep till his meeting the day after." When Gretel said nothing in reply to her words, Maia looked away from the map and turned around to find Gretel, booted feet resting on the table in front of her, crossed at the ankles as she leaned her chair back slightly and cleaned her bowie hunting knives, using a soft cloth to get rid of debris, and the little droplets of blood that had stained the blades. She nodded when she finished, reached behind her, without moving her feet from their perch on the table across from her and snagged the whetstone on the table she'd kept them on. She applied a couple drops of honing oil—Gretel had always been a choosy bitch about having the very best—to the stone, using the cloth to spread it across the stone, and then picked up one of the knives, set it just right and ran the edge of the blade across the stone, working in small increments, and then changing the degrees and angles until she had the edge of the blade just right. She turned the blade around with a quick flick of her fingers and worked on the other side. After several minutes, she smiled and reached for the scarf on the chair beside hers.

Just as Maia made to object, Gretel threw the cloth in the air, held the blade out and gave a thrilled hum when the flimsy material separated into two clean pieces upon contact.

She crowed.

"Easy for you to be happy. That was mine," Maia grumbled.

Gretel rolled her eyes. "Whatever. I'll get you a new one."

"Yeah, just like you promised to get me new bracelets to replace the one you turned into shooting targets."

"I was planning to," Gretel said defensively. "But then I remembered them, and boy do they look ugly as fuck, Roberts."

"And the Manolo Blahniks I was meant to wear for that Senatorial function, but you borrowed them, and then sank its heel in the Russian's throat?"

"Overpriced garbage you should be thankful I helped you get rid of," Gretel replied. She shrugged and blew on her nails and Maia was half tempted to snap at her and point out that her nails dried three days prior when she got her manicure done. "Besides, the cops were looking for those shoes. If I'd bought you those exact pair again, you would have come under suspicion."

"Well you could have gotten me  _ any  _ shoes to replace it then. Instead of just waving it off."

Gretel shrugged and started to reply when her phone beeped. She leaned across the table, grabbed her cell, read the message and dropped her feet to the floor.

"K?" Maia asked as she grabbed her own phone and slipped it into her jeans.

"Yeah," Gretel replied as she headed out with Maia a couple of steps behind her.

Steven 'Big Guy' Moretti's townhouse was the most impressive in the entire block. It was at least five stories with lights in every window making it look like a winter wonderland. If your idea of a winter wonderland was some sort of den for every atrocity known to man: smuggling, child trafficking, prostitution and the occasional murder that Big Guy Moretti managed to keep under wraps. Probably because just like every other person who ran a syndicate in New York City, he most likely had someone in the NYPD deep in his pocket.

The thought made Maia hiss.

"What," Gretel asked as she turned away from her scoping of the townhouse to look at Maia.

Mais shook her head and continued going through Moretti's file, every extra bit of information that she saw made her clench hard on the sheets of paper.

People like Moretti were scum. Scum that needed to be taken off this world, and have their very existence erased. A small-scale death wasn't even suitable for them. They needed to be made to suffer, they needed to fill just a slight bit of the pain they made others go through.

But they were also usually the type of people she gave a wide berth. People too close to her past. That part of the criminal under world she stayed away from. Just like she'd taken great care to give them all a wide berth life ever since she walked away from home with nothing but her backpack, a glock in her bag, a hunting knife hidden beneath her coat and the desire to be as far away from her past as possible.

And to a large extent she'd succeeded. She'd changed cities. New York was nothing like New Jersey that was for sure. She'd met friends, created for herself a new family, a family that made her actual family pale in comparison, because of course they couldn't measure or come close to what she now had. The camaraderie, the companionship... She turned and caught Gretel's side profile, smiling faintly at the sight of her best friend, lips pursed in concentration, binoculars pulled close to her eyes as she scanned the top floor of building across from them, Big Guy Moretti was on that floor with the poor girl he'd brought in for the night. His usual MO: he would beat the girl to a pulp, fuck her till she looked even worse, and if she was lucky enough she would still be alive when he kicked her out of the house. For her sake, Maia hoped she was, and that when the girl put on the news the next morning, she could take some satisfaction in Big Guy Moretti being dead.

She folded the documents back up and placed them on the dashboard, crossed her arms and tried to empty her mind as she waited.

Not like it helped. Her thoughts went back to New Jersey. To her past. To  _ him _ . If  _ he  _ caught a whiff of her, if he heard any rumours about her being in New York, he would come looking for her. Of that she was certain. And knowing him, he would drag her back into his mess. Just like he'd gotten her involved in all of these when she'd first met him. There were some things she couldn't take back, the nightmares she couldn't completely get rid of. But she would hold onto her new lease on life with her last dying breath.

What she couldn't do though, was let Big Guy Moretti continue in his ways. The women and the children deserve better. They deserved so much better, and she was damn well going to make sure she took out Moretti and his people. Consider it her service to the world.

And if that service came with the added advantage of making her a couple of millions richer, well who was she to complain? Lady luck was smiling down on her and she had every intention to pay her respects and enjoy the timely blessing.

"So how do you want to do it?"

The words brought her back to the present, to Gretel who was still keeping watch of the building whilst she spoke to Maia. "Still thinking about it."

"K says he wants to wipe out the entire mob family in one clean sweep. And make it obvious that the Moretti's were killed with a single stroke. So, detonation?"

Even as Gretel said the words, Maia shook her head. "He said he wants it done all at once, he didn't say it has to be  _ that _ loud." She gestured with her chin at the building. "Plus, if we blow it up, we might compromise the structural integrity of the house beside it. Best we make it quieter. K wouldn't be the one whose neck is on the line. It'll be ours."

Gretel raised a brow.

"Bombs are our MO. The right family looking for revenge if they search well enough might put it together that we're responsible and come for us."

Gretel sniffed. "So what? We can handle them."

_ Not if he was the one who came looking for us, we couldn't. _

"Either way, I'll rather stay safe than sorry," Maia replied and Gretel grunted.

"So what do you suggest?"

"Gas leak," Maia said and pulled out the copies of the townhouse's blueprints she'd made on her trip to the library. Gretel laughed and Maia grinned as she marked out the service line that ran up the side of the house and into the kitchen.

"Getting in would be hard you know. Especially if you want to stay undetected," Gretel said.

Maia shrugged. "I can do it."

"I know you can," Gretel replied. "But you have to be in and out in minutes. I don't want to have to go in to drag your body out because you wasted time and went down with the Moretti's."

Maia chuckled. "Not gonna happen."

"So how are you getting into the kitchen?

Maia dropped the blueprints and pulled up the map on her tablet. She tapped on the building closest to the Moretti's townhouse. "It's a stretch and I will probably have to be very careful but I can make the jump." She pointed drew a small arc from the flat roof of the adjourning townhouse "from here" to the Moretti's "there."

Gretel studied the map for a long moment without saying a word, and then she nodded. "Okay. It could work."

"It  _ will  _ work," Maia corrected her and they both turned their attention to the townhouse, waiting and hoping for the prostitute to take her leave.

The minutes flew by, and just as Maia considered that maybe the poor girl had become one of the Moretti statistics, the front door opened and someone stumbled out, landing hard on her palms and her knees.

She looked even worse than Maia had feared, and Maia had seen quite a lot of pictures of what Big Guy Moretti did to his 'guests'.

She dug her fingers into the soft flesh of her palm, staying in place, resisting the urge to go after the woman to inquire if she needed help. She just sat there, and breathed through the rage.

Almost ten minutes after, when the lights in the townhouse started going off, one after the other, Gretel asked. "You ready?"

Maia nodded, opened the door and got out.

She made quick work of the fire escape, climbing up the rungs faster than she'd ever taken them, the cold metal grounding her and also filling her with the intensity of the moment.

Thankfully there was no one hanging outside their balcony that could have caught a glimpse of her climb and soon she was on the flat roof, bending to make sure her laces were tied as tight as they could be.

She nodded when she confirmed it. Flexed her fingers, stretched out her legs, took in a deep breath, leaned back slightly, did a minor sprint, went back.

She did that several times, warming up the muscles, getting ready for the jump, breathing through the momentary doubt that wanted to take root in her mind.

And then she was running, legs easily covering the distance, arms pumping at her side, giving her the leverage she needed. She got to the edge of the roof, took in a deep breath and jumped, using her arms to propel her slightly forward, the long inhale sending her the extra meters she needed to land on the Moretti's townhouse roof. She rolled several meters after she landed and winced slightly.

Maia stood to her feet, rotated first one foot, then the other, and then rotated her hands.

All fully functional and uninjured.

She nodded, walked to the edge of the building, scaled her way to the bottom floor and landed on her hands and feet, making a silent landing as she ducked and crawled, taking a moment to catch her breath and to confirm that she couldn't hear the sounds of anyone moving around.

When she confirmed it, she moved to the windows. A little jiggle and it slid open.

She leaped over it and landed on the floor, relieved that it was dry. It would have stunk if she'd slipped because someone had showered and hadn't bothered drying the floor after they were done.

She snuck her way to the door, kept her ears glued to it and waited a bit.

When she was certain that it was all quiet, she turned the knob and slowly opened the door, keeping the noise to almost being nonexistent.

The way was clear.

She gave a sigh of relief, gently closed the door behind her and kept to the walls as she walked, down the stairs, hiding in the shadows whenever she heard even a whiff of sound.

But her trip was pretty uneventful and soon she stood in the kitchen, breath held as she quickly loosened the valve, leaving it slightly loose so the police would rule it an accident rather than straight on murder.

Her job done, she nodded and made her way back out the kitchen. She looked quickly around, walked across the hall to the window closet to the coat rack, the spot dark enough to keep her away from prying eyes that might suddenly pop out from their rooms.

She unlocked the window, breathe out silently when it pushed opened outward, and swung first one leg, then the other over the ledge. The rest of her body made it through and she slowly and quietly closed the window, satisfied when she heard the click of the locking mechanism slide into place.

After that it was a case of scaling the rest of her way down, keeping her head low as she made her way to the car. She slid into the passenger seat, Gretel started the car and they left.

* * *

The harsh sound of something ringing loudly woke him up with a start. Simon sat up, bleary eyes taking in his bedroom, the mess of his worktable and was that—fuck. Yup. He had a palm print on his right cheek. Just his luck.

He blinked owlishly as he reached for his glasses and slipped them onto his face. Everything came into clear focus, including the fact that he could see something lighting up inches away from his sociology textbook.

He dug around for it, pulled out his phone and his eyes widened when he noticed the caller ID.

"Professor Marks," Simon blurted out, wiping his face with his open palm.

"Lewis," Professor Marks growled. And then followed it with a frustrated sigh. "Let me guess, I won't be getting your final paper this morning?"

Simon held back a groan.

_ Fuck. _

"Actually..."

"No excuses Lewis. The paper was due three weeks ago and I still haven't seen it yet. Why is that? Do you want to change the topic? I thought you loved it?

That was the problem. He actually did. When he'd come up with the topic:  _ Acclimatization of the modern day Jew in the United States and the role of the digital age in ironically making it easier and harder by degrees,  _ he had been completely stoked. A way to research and provide insight into something that was close to his heart, and who knew, his findings might be able to help him understand himself and see a light in the society he lived in.

But then he'd gotten distracted and now here he was, with no idea where to go on after having identified the problems he was going to be delving into. It sucked to be honest. And Professor Marks had been very impatient. Way more patient than any of the other professors he might have gotten saddled with would have been. And he was for the third week in a row, disappointing the man.

"I really am sorry sir," he said.

Professor Marks sighed. "Maybe it's because I keep suggesting the date. If you were to choose, exactly when do you think you would have the paper ready for me?"

Simon looked at the books, the sheets of papers, a mixture of research into his newest job and his schoolwork. "Can I have till next weekend Professor," Simon asked and kept his fingers crossed that Professor Marks would approve of his request.

Professor Marks released a long drawn out sigh but finally replied. "Fine. But I'm not going to move it any further. Do you understand?"

Simon nodded hard, forgetting that the other man couldn't see him. "Thank you very much sir."

Professor Marks tsked. "Thank  _ you  _ for finally deciding on a submission date."

Simon released a wry chuckled and scratched the back of his head. "Well I..."

All he heard was the dial tone. Professor Marks had hung up.

Simon sighed and just as he made to drop the phone back on his table and get to work, it vibrated in his hand.

_ Clary, not Professor Marks changing his mind. Thank heavens. _

"Hey."

"Simon. So I finished making it for you."

Words that were like music to his ears. Simon grinned and sank back into his seat, all thoughts of his final paper wiped clean off his mind. If he had both hands free, he most likely would have rubbed them together in glee with how happy he felt at the moment. Instead he settled for wiggling his toes and laughing delightedly. "That's great news! When should I come and pick it up?"

"No need for you to come pick it up, I sent it to you," Clary replied.

"You what?" Simon said and shot to his feet. He was sure he screeched. It was worth screeching about. It had taken Clary a week to make it, and he had only a couple of days left to deliver on his promise to his client, and now she was saying she shipped it to him? "Are you crazy?!"

"Pfft," Clary replied, and he could just see her waving her hands and dismissing his concern in that way of hers. "I labelled it as very delicate and wrote in that they're chemicals in the box. They'll be careful."

"That's what  _ she  _ said. Until they accidentally break the poison they're carrying, die and then government traces it back to you and then me. Thanks a lot  _ Clarissa _ ."

"Oh hold your horses. You will get it soon and in perfect shape, no need to worry. Besides," she chuckled, her laugh ringing high and bright and Simon found his lips twitching as he smiled back. "It's odourless, colourless, water in a vial, and so potent, all you need is a couple of drops and the deed is done. Full system failure. Your mark will keel over from a heart attack. Just like magic."

Simon found himself grinning. His hands were practically shaking at the thoughts. Gods he needed that poison like he needed to breathe. "If it really does work, you really have outdone yourself."

Clary chuckled. "I know." Then her voice turned serious. "Whatever the case though, you have to..."

"Hold on," Simon cut in at the sound of his buzzer.

He slipped into the batman slippers Clary had gotten him for his last birthday, adjusted his glasses and shuffled to the door. A peep through the peephole had him suppressing a squeal.

He was an adult dammit. No squealing until after the man had gone and he was left alone with his poison and his best friend on the other end of the call.

He opened the door.

"Delivery for Simon Lewis."

Simon nodded and pointed at himself with one finger; his other hand still occupied holding his phone. Clary was quiet on the other end. "I'm Simon."

"Please sign here," the man said, handing his pen over to Simon.

Simon signed for the package, nodded in thanks and closed the door right back as he settled on the floor and pulled the box closer.

"You got it?" he heard Clary ask.

He hummed and he tore through the packaging, holding his breath as he removed the myriad of tissue that had been used to cushion the bottle. But then he was holding onto it, a tiny little vial with a clear liquid. There were no scrapped edges, no broken bits. It was perfect. "She's beautiful," he finally murmured.

"I know," Clary replied, the pomposity clear in her voice.

Simon didn't bother saying anything, just kept looking at the vial and smiling at finally holding it in his hands. "You have to promise Simon!"

The words snapped him back to the moment and his brow furrowed. "Promise what?"

You've got to be kidding me," Clary sighed. "You were ignoring me."

"I was distracted," Simon replied. "You should be proud. She's stunning."

"Yeah she's stunning. But keep her stunning brilliance out of all of Josh's orifices," Clary said.

"Clary..."

"No. We promised Luke. No interfering with Alaric's landlord."

Simon sighed and rolled his eyes. "Now you're sounding like Luke."

"It's because I know you. You're thinking it," Clary replied.

"And let me guess, Luke mentioned that you should make sure I don't do anything stupid," Simon asked.

The pause was all the answer he needed. "Seriously Clary. Don't worry. Nothing's going to happen with the man. I have no business with him."

"Yeah that's what you say but I know you--"

"What I  _ do _ have some business with is the synagogue. Ma'ariv is about to start and I can't afford to be late."

Just like he'd expected, all talks of his prayer time had Clary stumbling to a halt and she hung up after saying: "Oh is it time already? Sure thing. We'll talk later."

_ Not if I can help it. _

His shower went by quickly and he was soon dressed. He slipped the vial into his pocket, fixed his hair, and walked out of the apartment, locking the door behind him and then began his stroll, humming as he took note of the setting sun, feeling blissful and happy.

He made it to the synagogue on Seventy-second Street just before they started reading from Psalms seventy-eight. When the entire congregation started reciting Barechu, Simon zoned inwards, focusing only on the moment and on the prayers.

The rest of the service flew by and then they were wrapping up with the mourner's Kaddish, and Simon found himself joining the others outside the hall. As had been their practice since Simon found himself attending this particular synagogue, Yaakov, Daniel, Gad, Michael and Zev walked down the stairs and stood at the curb, talking about any and everything, ranging from the service, to the Mets game, to the drop in the price of oil. They were creatures of habit, even down to the way Michael snapped his fingers when he caught Simon's eyes.

That was his clue to get the man his evening coffee. Simon really couldn't make any sense of the people who could pull off drinking coffee late in the evening. If he ever attempted to take anything caffeinated after three in the afternoon, that was a guarantee that he would spend the entire night climbing the walls.

But Michael didn't have that problem. Ever since Simon approached him over a week prior to ask him for consideration of an internship at his company, Michael had made it a point of duty to have Simon bring him coffee every evening like clockwork.

Simon made him the cup of coffee. Black, no sugar or cream to 'dilute' the perfection. He wrinkled his nose. Give him his coffee swimming in sugar and cream please.

He made his way back down the stairs, and handed the cup to Michael who accepted it and waved absently at Simon.

Simon nodded and made his greetings to the rest and walked away. He could catch the distant strains of their voices, could hear Michael's voice raised predictably. The argument was getting heated and as was Michael's usual way, he raised his voice to have his own opinion heard over the others.

But then there was a loud exclamation, and a wail.

Simon turned neatly on his heel when he was on the other side of the street. His fingers dug deep into his pocket as he watched Michael crumble to the street, took note of the alarm that it caused as Michael's friends tried to catch him but failed, and his body instead hit the street, hard.

He kept his face straight, resisting the urge to smile when he saw someone apply CPR in hopes to revive the man. His fingers curled around the vial in his pocket.

_ Clary was right. It does work like magic. _

He pulled out his phone and typed out a quick message.

_ Job successful. Michael's dead. I expect my balance immediately. _

He slid the phone back in his pocket and absently noted that he would probably have to change synagogues. The blaring sounds of an ambulance rushing down the street filled the air, the crowd around Michael's fallen body continued to grow. No one paid attention to him. The university student on the other end of the street staring curiously at the spectacle.

No one paid him any attention. Except the man staring back at him from across the street. Compact body fit the black leather clothes he had on. The only shade of colour on his form was the man's blonde hair, combed back, with sleek edges. Simon's fingers twitched with the need to sink them into the man's hair. He wished he was close enough to see the man's eyes. See what colour they were. If they would further take his breath away.

At the thought he shook his head.

_ What the fuck? Get yourself together Lewis. You don't have the time to be staring moony eyed at some adonis. You have work to do. _

He looked back across the street, but the man wasn't there anymore. No compact body. No air of danger dressed all in black. All he could see was Michael getting loaded onto the ambulance and the crowd that had gathered to watch it all happen.

_ Talk about strange. _

* * *

Luke pulled up right beside the townhouse and stepped out of his patrol car. He nodded in greeting at the officers patrolling the street, and keeping the rest of the street away from Moretti's townhouse and took quick strides up the stairs and to the front door. He stopped, gratefully accepted the facemask the cop outside the house handed him, and entered the place.

The house was crawling with cops. From the forensics team dusting and gathering all the evidence they needed, to those who were examining the plethora of bodies that made up the Moretti mob. Or rather that used to make up the Moretti mob. They were all dead. All seventeen of them. Twelve men, and five women—let it not be said that the Moretti's did not believe in the equal opportunities for men and women.

Thankfully none of the children were present. As was their practice, they'd had their 'meeting' in a building separate from their wives and their children.

_ Hurrah for the casual misogyny. _

"Garroway."

The loud bark had him glancing up from his perch in front of Benicio Moretti who had collapsed right in front of the TV—at least the man had gone with a bang, courtesy of the Terminator movie he'd been watching—to meet the eyes of his captain.

Captain Leroy motioned at him and Luke strode across the living room, nodding at the officers whose eyes met his, ignoring the others who were too busy bagging and dictating notes and taking up way more space than was needed.

"Captain."

Captain Leroy walked up the stairs and Luke followed him, taking note of Danielle Moretti who unlike Benicio had collapsed on the stairs. He walked past her body, trying as much as possible not to brush against her. Although with the glare forensics gave him, you would have thought he'd kicked her down the stairs and danced the kumbaya around the scene to further destroy the crime scene.

He rolled his eyes.

Soon they'd made it to the master bedroom where sure enough there was Steven 'Big Guy' Moretti, all six foot six of him—he wasn't called 'Big Guy' for nothing—stretched onto his bed. He had a blissful expression on his face and Luke's mind flashed back to all the crimes the man had committed.

Fucker didn't deserve to go looking that peaceful dammit.

Captain Leroy opened the bathroom door, peeked in, closed it and checked out the closet, saying nothing as he went through the various doors.

Luke kept silent as he waited for him to speak.

"The entire Moretti's mob's gone, just like that."

Something in his tone had Luke looking at him suspiciously, although none of those suspicions made it into his voice when he spoke. "Yeah well, gas leaks tend to do that to people." Luke gestured at the house. "Old houses like this... it's why they're always saying have your gas lines checked out."

Captain Leroy made a disgruntled sound. "That's what forensics said. That the valve was loose."

Luke waited for the man to continue.

Captain Leroy chuckled, a harsh sound, with no mirth in it. "They're calling it an act of  _ God. _ Giving thanks to the big guy and all that."

Well Luke knew a five foot-five woman who they should be directing their thanks to. But something told him Maia would rather shoot him in the balls than give him the go ahead to share the good news so he shrugged when he caught the captain's eyes. "Shit happens."

Captain Leroy grunted.

Seconds later, someone knocked on the door and the forensics team walked in, bag in hand, ready to take Big Guy Moretti to the morgue for their autopsy.

Captain Leroy walked away and Luke followed behind, splitting ways with the good captain when he got to the bottom of the stairs and found Alaric surrounded by some of the other cops who were eyeballing him. "Always perfect timing Rodriguez. Thanks for showing up when the work's almost done," one of the cops—Toby—muttered.

When he caught Luke's glare, he nudged his partner and they all departed, leaving Luke alone with Alaric.

Alaric held up a paper bag.

Luke accepted it and looked inside. He tried to go for unimpressed. "You can't keep thinking food would get you out of this."

Alaric's face was just as impassive as he reached back for the paper bag.

Luke moved it out of sight. "Too late. You already gave it to me."

"It doesn't mean I can't take it back," Alaric pointed out.

Luke laughed and the two of them walked side by side, out the townhouse. "So where have you been?"

Alaric's hands found their way to the back of his neck and he rubbed.

Luke would know that tell even with his eyes closed. It was in the pause that usually followed it.

Alaric was embarrassed.

And only one thing ever embarrassed his partner and friend. "You were on a date."

The rub got even harder and Luke laughed, then swung his arm around Alaric's shoulder. "Nothing to worry about mi amigo. Is it the ever beautiful Celeste?"

Alaric nodded.

Luke cackled. "Good for you," he ribbed. "Here I thought you would stay forever celibate."

Alaric rolled his eyes and scoffed. "Well not all of us are lucky enough to have a Jocelyn Fray in our lives. Especially when she comes with a daughter who loves you to boot as well."

Thoughts of Joss had Luke smiling. And just like his thoughts had summoned her, his phone beeped. He pulled it out glanced at the screen and his smile widened into a grin.

_ Soup or Pasta? _

He considered it. Nah. He would rather have pizza. With tons of pepperoni. Extra thick crust.

He was just about to reply her message with a request for pizza when he got another message.

_ And no. Pizza is NOT an option. We've had pizza every day for the past week. Let's try something else. Please. _

He sighed.

**_Oxtail Soup. With sourdough bread. Please tell me you're ordering out and not cooking it._ **

He hit send and slipped the phone right back in his pocket. He wasn't expecting Joss to reply his message. She would get her revenge when he got home, soon enough. Alaric's shoulders shook with the effort it took him not to give in to the laughter. "Don't even think about it," Luke warned as he slipped into the driver's seat.

Alaric slid into the passenger's side, and except for a little snort he released, he didn't laugh.

Luke nodded, put the car into drive and they pulled away from the curb and were soon on their way to the precinct.

"So how was your meet with your CI," Luke asked as he took the turn and joined the slow moving traffic.

Alaric hissed. "He didn't show."

Luke's brow furrowed. "Is that normal?"

Alaric shook his head. "That's why it's so strange. I thought about calling him then decided to just wait for him to come to me. Don't want to risk compromising his position. He might be an asshole with a giant chip on his shoulder, but Mikey always turns up  _ eventually _ ."

"And if he doesn't turn up," Luke asked, as he zipped his way through traffic. The sooner got to the precinct, the sooner he could leave and be on his way home.

"Well if he doesn't show up, then I will go looking for him," Alaric replied as he scrolled through his phone. "He can't stay hiding from me forever. And unlike your more scary mug, I'm the better looking partner. He likes seeing my face"

Luke burst out laughing, his laughter ringing loudly and mixed with Alaric's. They remained chuckling as they drove back to the precinct, all thoughts of Mikey out of their heads.

The man would show up eventually. Luke was sure of it.

* * *

Ten at night found him crawling up the side of William Harrington III's Georgian. The house was as pretentious as its owner and Magnus fought the urge to roll his eyes. It would be a waste of the disdain, especially because the man who the eye-roll was for wasn't present to see it.

And he wouldn't be climbing up the man's house, heading straight for the terrace the man had built into his bedroom which was on the other side of the building, far away from the study and the safe whose contents Magnus had been paid to retrieve, if his friends had just allowed him to kill the man.

"But if you'd killed him then, he wouldn't have been able to get the case and his brother would already be halfway round the world right now, Which would mean no money, and a blotch to your reputation. You just have to be patient. You will get to kill him soon enough."

What sucked about climbing up someone's house and trying to do it as quietly as possible was that he couldn't snap at Ragnor and his annoying voice buzzing in his ear, thanks to the earpiece Ragnor had insisted he slip on. Bad idea for him to lose his cool and reply Ragnor now that he was close enough for people in the house to possibly hear his voice.

"Besides, why do you hate the man so much? Sure the date was horrible and he was a bit elitist, and he did try to pull that nonsense on you in the bathroom, but you hated him even before he showed how stupid he was."

His hands gripped the stone ledge tight and he swung himself over, landing lightly on the other side of the ledge, feeling quite satisfied to have solid ground underneath his feet again. "Because he was a snooze-fest and a waste of my time, good clothes, and the rarity that's my company," Magnus whispered.

Ragnor snorted. "And you called  _ him _ arrogant. This is a classic case of the pot calling the kettle black."

"As long as the pot can wear that black  _ better  _ than the kettle, she can call that damn kettle anything she wants," Magnus retorted and pressed his ears against the window, satisfied when all he heard was silence.

Bumping the lock on the twin glass doors that separated the terrace from the rest of the house was pretty easy and Magnus turned the knob, slipped into the house and gently closed it behind him.

After that, it was merely a case of keeping to the shadows, being as quiet as he possibly could as he walked around the house to the other side of the building, passed a couple of closed doors, to the study. He could hear the game going on in the living room down the stairs and shook his head at the lax security. Of course the man's security sucked. He probably spent too much time thinking about stock portfolio rather than how best to safeguard his home.

Soon enough Magnus stood outside the door.

He reached into his boots, pulled out a knife and turned the knob with his other hand as he stepped into the room.

Three things registered at once.

The open safe. William Harrington III and his slit throat. And the man who was currently making his way out the room, holding the briefcase Magnus had been paid to acquire. "Hey!"

The word was louder than he'd planned but Magnus didn't notice, because the other man had looked back upon hearing Magnus speak and the warm lights of the study played upon a face that belonged on a classical painting. Stunning hazel eyes looked back at him, the green in them seemed even brighter in the light of the study. A shock of black hair fell over one eye, bringing even more attention to his face.

He was... beautiful, and for a moment Magnus stopped, and stared.

The man stared back, and then he grinned: wicked, happy, playful, his full lips curved to the side. He sent Magnus a wink and threw himself off the window, leaving Magnus alone in the study with the open safe, a dead William, and the running footsteps of William's staff running up the stairs and towards the study.

_ Fuck. _


	2. I cut the population down, if you know what I mean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magnus barely makes his escape and gets his chance to return the favour. Izzy meets someone new with ties that are dangerously close to hers. Jace pays a visit to his family and finally gets his chance to meet the boy he's always noticed from afar and Jocelyn is way in over her head and keeping secrets that can unravel everything her family thought they knew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, where do I start. Firstly, huge apologies. I can't believe it's been almost 8 bloody weeks since I last updated. The fuck?!! Truly life doesn't give a shit when your whole world is turning upside down!
> 
> For those of you who care, I have been job hunting for the last couple of months. It has been hell. Especially because it's imperative I get another place to work as I want to start actively saving for shit. Anyway, I eventually got a job. I got two offers actually. *Yay!* So I am through the moon. Upon getting the offer, I thought, yay it's about time I get around to finally finishing chapter 2. But then my flash drive crashed with my started chapter 2 on it and my stupid ass hadn't backed it up anywhere else. Let's just say it was a nightmare! I finally retrieved the files and I am now primarily in the school of thought that you must always back up your babies! Preferably on the internet. Google Docs is your friend!!!
> 
> Anyway, onto the chapter. You can check out the moodboard [here](http://themagnusbane.tumblr.com/post/163843455152/the-killing-machine-chapter-2).
> 
> Also, huge thanks to my love [Ana (Twitter)](https://twitter.com/latinalightwood) | [Ana (Tumblr)](http://latinalightwood.tumblr.com)for once again reading through, helping me edit and convincing me that what I wrote was not the absolute crap I was convinced it was. I love you my heart. Always!

Magnus’ heart beat fast as his eyes scanned the room. The pounding of his heart seemed to coincide with the racing footsteps of Harrington’s household staff and he took in a deep breath, let it out slowly as he tried to calm down and regroup.

“What happened,” he heard Ragnor ask through the headset.

“Harrington’s dead and I’m twenty seconds away from being caught,” Magnus replied.

“Bolt the door. That should buy you an extra three to five minutes,” Ragnor suggested.

Magnus turned on his heel, slowly pushed the study door close and turned the key. He stepped away from the door, finding it easier to breathe and gather his thoughts. “Sure they won’t just break the door open anyway?” Magnus whispered.

“Doubt it. And even if they will, they won’t do it immediately. All they heard was you shouting 'hey.' It’s not like a gun went off, nor did Harrington shout when he was attacked. They will probably try knocking first, ask if he’s alright for a while before they decide to be proactive and attempt breaking down the door."

Magnus sniffed. Who knew he would catch a break because of the bourgeois rich and their need to keep some distance between themselves and their staff. A distance that meant that no staff would risk breaking down the Harrington's door for fear of it turning out that nothing was actually wrong; a situation that would incur the wrath and expense of having been too proactive in breaking their way into their boss’ private space.

Sure enough, the running footsteps made their way to outside the door and someone knocked on the door. “Is everything okay Sir? Sir? Did something happen Sir?”

Magnus turned out the sounds until they were nothing more than white noise as he scanned the study, searching for his way out.

The room was devoid of anything personal to Harrington. He had a plethora of bookshelves that went up the wall till their tops were practically kissing the ceiling. The shelves were packed solid with books, no space in between them, and he doubted that pulling on one book would reveal a hidden room behind the shelves. Knowing his luck, there would be no hidden rooms forthcoming.

Twin globes were right beside the unlit fireplace and Magnus’ lip curled into a sneer. It was just like the pretentious prick to get two globes when all he needed was one. William Harrington III also had a large armoire take up an entire corner of the wall right beside his open safe and Magnus had only a passing interest in the reason why William would want to keep extra clothes in his study when he could just as easily change in his bedroom which was only a couple of rooms away.

A large mahogany writing desk took up space beside the open window, the only thing on it, a capped fountain pen. Magnus walked to the window and stared down, confirming that without the harness he’d left up on the bedroom terrace, there was no way he could make his way through the open window.

He scanned the room again, still no escape in sight.

“Sir? Are you there Sir?” he heard someone ask through the closed door.

“Get the spare key,” he heard a new voice pipe in and it jolted him.

“Shit,” he hissed low.

“No obvious way out?” Ragnor asked.

“Thanks for stating the obvious,” Magnus whispered as he covered the mouthpiece with his hand to further prevent the possibility of William’s staff overhearing him.

He scanned the room once again.

“You said his house’s a Georgian?” Ragnor asked. “How old?”

“Nineteenth century. Colonial Revival,” Magnus replied.

“How big is the fireplace?”

The question had Magnus spinning around and he eyed the fireplace. “Decent. Bigger than…” He trailed off and sucked in a harsh breath. “No. Hell No.” He tried putting added force behind the “no” but there was only so much force a person could add to a vehement denial when one was whispering and trying to keep one's voice low enough so the household staff on the other side of the door can’t hear you.

“Seriously Magnus,” Ragnor started to say.

“No. There is no way in hell that I’m turning into Santa and crawling my way up a chimney. This isn’t a fairytale and I am nothing like a potbellied creep who delights in dropping in on unexpected children.”

“Santa doesn’t exist,” Ragnor said drolly. “Do you want us to have that conversation, Magnus? What are you, seven?”

“He might not exist but it doesn’t mean he’s still not a creep,” Magnus grumbled.

“And you’re an assassin who came to rob and kill a man,” Ragnor pointed out. “Drop the self-righteous act. All you need is to crawl up a bit and wait long enough for them to leave the room. You can then come back down and sneak your way to the bedroom.”

“Found it!”

The delighted cry was all Magnus needed to propel him to the fireplace. He spared a second to look at his clothes and suppressed a sigh as he mentally mourned the loss of good clothes that had done nothing to deserve the travesty that they were soon going to experience. He peered through the grate, gave silent thanks to nineteen century masons and the almost box like space that was the fireplace leading up to the chimney. He pushed his head in, stopped to wiggle his shoulders through—few men in the eighteen hundreds had his physique after all—and gave a sigh of relief when his shoulders made it through.

“The key’s not working. I think something’s stuck on the other side. Break the door in.”

He had thirty seconds tops before they entered. Magnus swung his legs in, braced his palms on the two ends of the brick fireplace and pulled himself up a couple of feet until he was certain no would catch a glimpse of said feet.

Seconds later, the door busted open and startled cries filled the room.

“Sir!”

“Mr. Harrington!”

“Any pulse?”

“None. Oh my God! Mr. Harrington!"

“Call nine-one-one. Go now!”

Magnus heard running footsteps. Probably the person who was going to call in the murder.

“The window. Mr. Harrington doesn’t leave it open at night,” piped up a voice that was way younger than all the ones Magnus had heard in the room so far.

“Shit. Search the grounds!” Magnus heard running footsteps. “Find them. They couldn’t have gotten far.” Even as the person was speaking, Magnus heard the voice slowly fade out, like its owner had joined the others in running out to look for the killer who had escaped through the open window.

Magnus maintained his position for another couple of minutes, until there was complete silence for a long while, long enough for him to ascertain that they’d all gone and there was no one left behind with the body.

When the silence persisted for another minute, he scrambled back down, giving another silent thanks that it was summer and the residual soot he had so feared was at a bare minimum.

He climbed out of the grate, gave one more look at William, the lifeless look in his eyes, the gash across his throat, and then made his way to the door. He glanced through it, looking left and right to be certain that there was no one coming from either way.

It would seem that none of the staff actually waited with their dead boss. Not like he expected any different. What good would it do for them to wait anyway? The man was already dead. Staying wouldn’t bring him back to life, nor would it keep him from being killed, twice.

After he’d confirmed that indeed, no one was coming, he slipped out of the room, kept his back to the wall and walked sideways, back up the stairs, as he made his way to the bedroom. Every sound had him ducking into corners and hiding behind the pillars that held up the different floors.

He’d just about made it to the bedroom when the door in front of him swung open and a man stepped out through the door.

Magnus acted instinctively. His hands shot out and he gave two well-placed jabs at the base of the man’s throat before the man could think to sound an alarm. He watched impassively as the man gargled and his fingers rose to his throat as he clutched at it and struggled to get breath into his lungs. Seconds later, he thudded to the ground.

Magnus pulled the body into the room the man had stepped out from and quietly closed the door. He glanced around, made certain that there was no other person coming his way and then continued his crouched run to Harrington’s bedroom.

He made it without any further incidences, closed the door behind him, slid open the window and climbed out to the terrace. He slid the window shut and headed to the edge of the terrace where his harness and climbing gear waited for him. He smiled, strapped himself in, confirmed that the rope was secured and climbed over the ledge of the terrace until he was balanced on the other side with nothing but the ground beneath him.

Magnus waited a bit until he was sure that he couldn’t hear any voices and then swung his way back down. He landed on the ground, stepped out of the harness and unclipped his gear. He swept them up in his arms, and ran to the Eastern side of the wall, moving fast, whilst keeping his head low.

Finally, he made it to the low wall that separated the Harrington estate from the rest of the street and made quick work of climbing the wall. A hard heave, and he was sitting at the top of the wall.

“I see him. Top of the Eastside wall!”

The voice came from several meters away and was followed by someone blowing a sharp whistle. Magnus grinned and dropped onto the other side, landing right beside his parked Dodge Challenger.

He slid into the car, gunned the engine and sped away from the estate, occasionally checking his rearview mirror to be sure that he hadn’t picked up a tail.

“I take it you’ve made your escape,” he heard Ragnor say.

“Of course. No one’s catching me tonight.”

“Cocky,” Ragnor said, and Magnus could hear the smile in his voice. “Also, you’re welcome.”

Magnus rolled his eyes. “I would have come up with it myself. Eventually.”

Ragnor snorted. “Yeah right.”

Magnus moved into third gear, and ignored the thinly veiled sarcasm in the words.

“So what’s the plan?” Ragnor asked.

“Find the asshole who cost me a job and almost got me killed, and return the favor.”

* * *

 

Alec made a rapid descent down the window, moving faster than he’d done when he’d climbed up the building, and in seconds, he had his gear in hand as he ducked and ran to the bushes.

He couldn’t hear what was going on in the house but he could bet that the loud 'hey' Magnus had shouted must have woken up some, if not all of Harrington’s staff and they would at the moment, be trying to get into the study as opposed to walking outside the house where they would be more likely to run into him.

Still, Alec wasn’t taking any chances.

He waited until he was certain that all was silent and then quickly climbed up the wall, using the weathered holes in the wall as grips for his hands and his feet. After that, it was easy jumping down to land on the other side and he brushed the dust and debris off, held on tight to the briefcase he'd nabbed and strolled over to the bright red Ford that was parked several blocks away from the Harrington estate.

Seeing it had him smiling even as he shook his head at his best friend who was behind the wheel. “Only you would think it’s a good idea to bring a very distinct car to a job,” Alec said as he entered the car.

Raj rolled his eyes. “You’re just jealous because my baby wears her red better than you.”

Alec raised a brow. “And you’re still the nut job who talks about a car like it’s a person you’re fucking. Your boyfriend must be so jealous.”

Raj scoffed. “You say jealous, I say he understands how big a bond I have with her.”

He slid Alec a look. “Plus Victor’s always up for just how much being inside her turns me inside out, if you know what I mean.” He waggled his brows.

Alec made a face. “TMI! I have absolutely zero interest in your sex life.”

“You’re just jealous you’re not getting laid,” Raj muttered. “You got the case?”

Alec waved the case at him and then dropped it on the backseat.

“Good,” Raj said and made to start the car.

“Hold on a bit,” Alec said as he curled his fingers around Raj’s hand.

Raj’s forehead creased into a concerned frown. “What are you doing? The longer we’re here, the higher our chances of getting caught. This isn’t your first rodeo Lightwood. You should know that.”

“Just give me a couple more minutes,” Alec said and closed his eyes. His ears perked up as he waited. He heard Raj huff but didn’t open his eyes. Even with them closed, he was could picture Raj glaring at him and mentally calling him every vile word he could think of. But, they’d been best friends for over two decades and if he told Raj to wait, Raj waited.

Raj also tended to follow Alec’s lead and something in his body language must have given Raj the heads-up that Alec wasn’t in a talking mood, because Raj stayed quiet.

And so they waited. Raj with the incessant drumming on the wheel that was the only indication that he was getting very agitated and he wanted them far away from the estate, and Alec, breathing in deep as he waited for…

There!

The stringent sound of a whistle being blown cut through the silence of the night and Alec smiled as he opened his eyes.

“Top of the Eastside wall. I see him!”

“What the,” Raj started to say.

“Drive,” Alec said. “Now!”

Raj’s response was immediate. He gunned the engine, put the car in gear and they were on their way. He spent the entire drive staring at Alec from the corner of his eyes. Alec ignored him.

Alec pulled out his phone, sent in a quick text to the client confirming that they were en route with the package and reached across the seat to yank Raj’s baseball cap off Raj's head.

Raj glared at him. “Asshole.”

Alec smirked, set the car seat to recline and covered his face with the baseball cap; using their short trip to the coffee shop to get some much needed naptime in.

Between training, helping Max with his schoolwork and the sudden spike in contracted jobs that had them all busy most days, he hadn’t been able to get a full night’s sleep in a long time.

He startled awake to Raj shaking him and pulled off the baseball cap. They were in the parking lot of the Blue Bottle. As always, the place was packed and filled with other night crawlers who would rather get another shot of espresso than go to bed.

Alec wondered if he was in any room to judge considering he was there to do the same.

His long legs covered the distance very quickly and he dug his fingers into the pocket of his jacket as he stepped into the café.

Brown and white dominated the colours on the wall, with the white used to form pretty little hearts that dotted the otherwise brown wall.

He could see the chip on the wall that started right by the heater and he nudge the barista’s attention to it.

She glanced back, mouthed a “we’re working on fixing it” and poured him his order of a latte. Alec settled into his seat, his eyes scanning the entire floor as he took slow sips of his coffee.

Fifteen minutes later, after receiving the paper bag filled with doughnuts, meat pies and a slice of chocolate cake, Alec grabbed the briefcase, rose to his feet and made to step out of the corner booth he’d been seating.

At that same moment, someone bumped into him hard and he staggered back, instinctively dropping the briefcase.

The man that had bumped into him mumbled a low apology, picked up his own case and walked away.

Alec sighed, dropped a couple of ten-dollar bills, tip included, picked up his briefcase and walked out of the Blue Bottle and into the car.

“Got our money?” Raj asked.

Alec unlocked the briefcase the stranger had dropped and turned the case around to Raj.

Crisp hundred dollar bills, neatly stacked, greeted their eyes and Raj whistled.

“Impressive. I still don’t understand why the guy didn’t want to simply pay it into our account though. But then again, his money, his rules.”

“Plus, he probably didn’t want to be traced back to us,” Alec murmured. At Raj’s questioning look, he sighed and braced himself. “There was someone else there to collect the case.”

Raj braked hard and Alec went flying forward for a brief moment, but then his seatbelt snapped him back into place. “What the fuck?!”

“I should be the one saying that Lightwood,” Raj barked. “What the fuck?! So not only were Harrington’s staff looking for his killer but you deadass had us wait, even though you knew another killer was on the job and you’d just basically framed him for the kill? What the fuck? This isn’t like you! You only do stupid shit like this when…” His voice trailed off and he glared. “You have got to be shitting me.”

Alec’s eyes drifted to the window. “We should get going. You know how pissed Maryse gets if we don’t report in as soon as the job’s done.”

“Oh hell no Lightwood! Even my fear of your mother won’t get you out of this. He was there wasn’t he?”

“Who was,” Alec asked, going for innocent, even though he knew Raj wasn’t going to fall for it.

“Don’t even try it, Lightwood,” Raj glared. “You’ve only succeeded in distracting me once in the two decades we’ve known each other.”

Alec smirked. “Well, I can’t take all the credit for that. You did lose your head when you saw him.” It had been hilarious to watch his usually composed friend flustered when he’d caught sight of the attorney who would later become his boyfriend. Even now, as Alec grinned at the thought, he could still hear the strangled sound Raj had released when Victor had caught his eye, smiled and walked towards them.

Raj sniffed. “Well you lose your head too. Except in my case, Victor actually spoke to me. Magnus Bane still doesn’t know you exist.”

Alec shrugged, unbuckled his seat belt and stretched back out on the seat. He caught the cap Raj tossed at him in midair, mumbled a ‘thank you’ and covered his face as he tried going back to sleep.

“So… Is he as hot as the whispers say he is?”

Alec closed his eyes, pulling back the image of a black long-sleeved top, the fabric stretched across a powerfully big torso. Black pants tailored to slimmer hips and muscled things and long legs that ended in black combat boots. The only bits of colour had been the teal streak in Magnus’ hair, the bright blue of his eye shadow and the distinct warm brown of eyes that had raked appreciatively across Alec’s body for several seconds before Alec had made his escape and left the man to deal with the fallout. “Oh hell yeah.”

For the second time that night, Alec woke to Raj shaking him awake.

He looked up at the brownstone he and his siblings had bought for themselves after they'd insisted on making New York City their turf and turned to Raj who still had the engine running. He raised a brow. “Well?”

“Not tonight. You can give her feedback for both of us. I’m beat and Victor’s got a bath waiting for me.”

Alec made to object and snapped his mouth shut when Raj raised a finger and wagged it in front of his face. “No can do Lightwood. It’s not my fault you don’t have a good-looking man with magical fingers waiting for you at home. Also, you owe me for the shit you pulled tonight.”

Alec reached behind him, picked up the briefcase from the backseat and stepped out of the Ford. He flipped off Raj who returned the favour and then drove off.

Lucky bastard.

The doorknob turned easily beneath his fingers and he let loose a smile, well aware of what he would see even before he entered the house.

Sure enough, his siblings were up and both waiting for him in the living room. Jace had his iPad in hand and was busy playing a game: candy crush if Alec was to guess. Ever since he’d accidentally stumbled on the game, Jace hadn’t been able to break his addiction to the damn thing.

Izzy on the other hand was carefully dipping a set of ornate hairpins into a vial. She worked methodically, smearing an excess of the poison on a damp cloth she had beside the jar, giving a little smile every time her collection grew.

“I didn’t know you’d gotten a new supply in,” Alec said as he walked to the installed safe in their living room, used their assigned codes: the date of Izzy’s first kiss, the day of Jace’s first kill and the day Maryse had bought Alec his first sniper rifle. He had over ten different ones now but his first would always hold a special place in his heart. He put the briefcase in the safe and locked it.

“Yeah,” Izzy said after he turned his attention back to her. “Got it last week. Of course it’s not as good as the one Clary makes, but it comes pretty close.”

Alec made a face. Talk of Clary Fray always made the nerves at the back of his eyes begin to tick incessantly. “Well, getting Clary Fray’s specially made poisons would involve actually interacting with the girl.” Jace snorted and Alec continued. “No sane person is able to cope with being near that girl for a long period of time. I can’t believe you actually dated her!”

Izzy rolled her eyes at him. “It was one date Alec. Just one.”

“One date too many if you ask me,” Alec muttered under his breath.

“Well no one’s asking you,” Izzy snapped and then pointed at the clock on the mantel. “What took you so long anyway? You and Raj were meant to have been back at least forty-five minutes ago. Was there a problem getting into Harrington’s estate?”

Alec hummed and worked off his gloves, one finger at a time. It was a move he did to buy himself time. A nervous tick he had picked up over the years.

Unfortunately, it was a nervous tic his siblings recognized well. “What happened?” Jace asked.

Alec turned to look at him. He’d dropped his iPad, all thoughts of candy crush gone. Izzy also had her eyes narrowed at him, her dark eyes staring intently at him, dissecting his every move, her brilliant mind working even faster than it usually did. “Someone else was there.” It was a statement, not a question and Alec nodded. “Who was it?” she asked.

Alec sighed as he dropped onto the three-man couch. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

Jace rolled his eyes. “Please. Like we all haven’t seen the strangest shit. Nothing you say can be unbelievable. Unless you had a ghost waiting for you when you got there.”

“Or Magnus Bane himself,” Izzy added with a laugh.

He must have given himself away because Izzy sat up straight and Jace’s eyes narrowed. “You have got to be shitting me,” Jace said.

“You met Magnus Bane? In the flesh?” Izzy asked.

“Someone else was interested in the case. Hired Magnus to retrieve it,” Alec replied.

“And you beat him to it?” Izzy sounded so incredulous that Alec glared at her. She held her hands up. “Hey, easy there brother dearest. I’m not casting aspersions on your skills. But damn, it’s Magnus Bane.”

“And he let you walk away with the case,” Jace asked, an intensity to his blue-brown eyes that he rarely ever showed.

“Well technically, we had company coming and I left him to deal with them,” Alec said, his lips twitching into a smile as he remembered the incredulous look on Magnus’ face when he’d walked in on Alec about to make his escape.

Izzy shook her head and laughed. “You know he’s going to come for you right?”

Alec shrugged. “I can handle it.”

“I’m sure you can,” Izzy said with a wink and a telling tilt to her voice. Alec rolled his eyes at the innuendo and tried to close his eyes. “So tell me. Is he as hot as they say he is?”

Alec’s mind wandered again, to black hair with red streaks, faded at the side with a bit of a low pompadour in front. Full lips framed by a goatee. Magnus’ lips had been wet, slightly pink, courtesy of whatever lip-gloss he’s used before deciding to break into Harrington’s estate. He’d had an ear cuff on, Alec thought, but he hadn’t stayed long enough to see what design it was. But it had been the only bit of jewelry Magnus had had on him. And then there was that body. Rock hard and muscled, with so much power his mouth had dried up when he’s first caught sight of him. Magnus Bane looked better in person than he did in any of the pictures that had tried but failed to do him justice.

“That hot huh?”

The words brought Alec back to the present and he glared at a smirking Izzy. He was just about to speak when Jace muttered. “I still can’t believe you almost got caught because you were ogling Magnus Bane.”

Alec sniffed. “You’re just jealous because you didn’t get the chance to meet him first.”

Jace glared, but said nothing. Alec smirked and continued speaking. “Besides, you’re one to talk about almost getting caught when it was your ass who forgot himself staring at Simon Lewis this evening.”

“You finally got to meet him,” Izzy asked and joined Alec in smirking at Jace who’d now decided that their ceiling was the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen. “How did it go?”

When Jace didn’t respond, Izzy jabbed one of her hairpins in the underside of Jace’s big toe and Jace jackknifed off the couch.

“Hey! Poison!”

“Not on this one. But keep dawdling and I will be sure to use a poisoned one next.”

Jace looked like he was about to protest but something in Izzy’s eyes must have convinced him that she wasn’t joking and he spoke. “I didn’t meet him actually. He didn’t even know I was there.”

Alec scoffed. “You made eye contact. Ogled him for several seconds. Trust me. He knew you were there.”

“You know for someone who wasn’t there, you sure know exactly how it all went down,” Jace retorted.

Alec huffed. “Next time, don’t call me immediately after the fact, telling me all about how Simon carried out a hit so flawlessly and the way he looked so unassuming, unless you knew to look at his eyes and could see the almost maniacal delight in them.”

Jace flipped him off and Izzy laughed. She was just about to say something when their FaceTime ringtone went off.

Well aware that there was only one person who could be calling them that late, Alec, Izzy and Jace took up space on the sofa across from the screen to which their computer had been connected.

Alec picked up the call and their mother’s face appeared on the screen. “Alec, Isabelle, Jace. Report.”

“Mother,” Alec answered. “William Harrington III is dead. The vaccine was handed over and the client has made payment.”

Maryse nodded. “Good work.” Just as Alec made to incline his head in thanks for the compliment, his mother continued. “You wasted too much time in the house. Did you run into any trouble?”

Alec shook his head.

Maryse’s eyes narrowed. He could tell she knew he wasn’t telling the truth, and that she also knew that if he wanted to hold that information back from her, he would.

She moved on to Izzy. “What did I hear about you going in for the Singer kill? I thought I already made it clear that Jace would be the one handling that.”

“Yes mother. But I’ve built the needed relationships and I’ve cased Singer Enterprises for long enough. My job in the place gives me an in. Everything should be a piece of…”

“Nothing’s a piece of cake Isabelle. Especially not in our line of work. Cockiness will sooner get you a knife in the back than anything else. Never forget that,” Maryse cut in.

Isabelle hung her head. “I’m sorry mother.”

Alec bristled. From the corner of his eyes, he caught sight of Jace’s knuckled hands. They’d gone white with the amount of effort it took him to stay silent.

Maryse however continued talking, every word brittle, looking oblivious of just how angry they were all getting. “Besides, with all the failed attempts on her life since she took control of Singer Enterprises, her security levels have increased to handle the threats. Elise Singer is not an easy mark. Jace will carry out the kill, and that’s that.” She nodded at Jace and hung up the call.

Izzy sighed and rose from the seat. She turned around and flashed them a weary smile. “Well I guess I’ll be heading to bed.”

“How were you planning on doing the job,” Alec asked before she could turn around and leave.

“You heard her Alec. She doesn’t want me doing it.”

“Yeah, but if she hadn’t called to tell you not to, how would you have done it?”

“Poison,” Izzy replied.

Alec grinned. “Duh. Which one?”

“BTX.”

“Batrachotoxin? Nice!” Jace smiled. “Quick acting, lethal, a work of art. Brutally efficient as expected.”

Izzy turned around and smiled. It wasn’t a full smile, but it was a start.

“Can you pull off the kill tomorrow?”

Izzy cocked her head and looked at Alec for a long moment. “Yes I can,” she said with a ghost of a smile.

“Can you wait for one more day before having to make the kill,” Alec asked Jace.

Jace rotated his wrist and gave an exaggerated wince. “I was just about to ask for a day off actually. I must have pulled something playing candy crush tonight. My hands don’t feel too good. No way I can pull off the job by tomorrow.

Izzy spluttered and then turned it into a full on laugh, shaking her head as she looked at them. “You’re both completely crazy.”

Alec ginned and headed towards his bedroom. He stopped when Izzy called his name.

“Thank you.”

He smiled back at her. “You’re welcome baby sister.”

* * *

 

“Ready for another search de grope?”

The words came from behind her and Izzy spun around and smiled at the sight of Aline Penhallow, a colleague and the only other assistant to the assistant in Singer Enterprise that she tolerated long enough to call a friend. Unlike Izzy who had been posted in the executive wing of the company when she started, Aline was in sales. What they did have in common however, was that they both joined Singer on the exact same day and had had their company tour together.

“Is any of us ever truly ready,” Izzy tossed back and Aline laughed.

“So tell me, how was your weekend,” Aline asked as they walked together towards the main entrance, giving quick nods to the old guards and ignoring the muscled men that had arrived en masse as additional security after another foiled assassination attempt on Elise Singer.

“As good as it could be,” Izzy replied and handed over her handbag to one of the old guards. She stepped forward, hands stretched to the side as she tried to relax and not punch the muscled meathead new head of security who gave a lascivious grin and then proceeded to pat her down, taking time to grope her ass, run his fingers repeatedly down her side, and spend way too long sliding his hands down her legs. When he finally stood up, he gave her an exaggerated wink and gestured that she could enter.

Izzy collected her bag from the other guard, nodded at the apologetic look he gave her and stalked into the building.

Aline joined her shortly afterwards. “One of these days, I’m going to kick in the groin so hard he will be peeing blood for a week.”

“And he will deserve it,” Izzy replied. Actually he deserved way more than that, but Izzy wasn’t about to admit to wanting to slit the asshole from right in between his legs to the middle of his beady eyes. Admission was just one step away from a confession when the man finally croaked at her hands.

“Don’t they all,” Aline replied and then waggled her fingers in a quick goodbye when she caught sight of her boss, arms filled with several files, his mouth moving a mile a minute as he talked to someone with his headset. “See you at lunch?”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Izzy answered, and headed to the east wing where her cubicle sat, and settled in to get started for the day.

A lot could be said about people who were creatures of habit, Izzy thought as she worked on the minutes of the just concluded board meeting. Most would say such people lived pretty boring and uninteresting lives. Izzy however believed that creatures of habit gave an act of service to the rest of mankind for which they should be commended: they gave the much needed ‘in’ to those who needed it.

Izzy’s fingers flew across the keys, typing as fast as she could, whilst her mind wandered, and narrowed in as it tried to catch a strain of Elise Singer’s voice. The board meeting had gone on for over three hours, thanks to Vice President Blackwell and his love of hearing himself speak and Elise was running behind schedule.

“Set up an appointment with Bobby and tell him to bring the mockup design for the new bottle’s packaging. I want to see it.” The voice echoed in the otherwise quiet office and the click clack of people typing stopped momentarily at Elise’s booming command. “And get me a cup of coffee. Black. No sugar or cream.”

At that, Elise walked into her office and shut the door, causing everyone to release a sigh of relief and then resume working.

Izzy worked fast, her eyes constantly darting to the timer on her computer. When enough time had passed, she stood. She caught the eye of her boss and mouthed the word ‘bathroom’. He nodded and she smiled in thanks, and then headed down the stairs.

A quick stop at the Janitor’s office got her a ‘bathroom out of order’ sign. Thankfully there was no one in the office, and she carried her price to the bathroom across the hall, hung the sign outside her stall and locked the door.

Knowing Elise, an intern was most likely presenting her with her coffee at that exact moment. A coffee Elise would insist one of her unfortunate assistants taste first—she always had a different assistant do the honors every time, just in case the one she used was paid to poison her and given an antidote to ensure their survival. By alternating who the taster would be, she was able to keep her would be killer guessing. If the assistant she chose was indeed unfortunate enough to really die from the poison, she would send some money to the victim’s family; at least twenty-five grand, but never more than sixty. And usually by the very next day, there would be another assistant there to take the dead one’s place.

After her morning board meetings, Elise always headed out of the company for an afternoon of meeting up with her business associates. But before she left, she always stopped unfailing at the restroom. Something about the bathrooms everywhere else not being up to the standard that she was used to at the office.

Unfortunately, the only bathroom closest to Elise's office was currently out of commission. Izzy stared at her arm and at the slight scratch she’d gotten when she’d gone to work with a wrench to make sure that the toilet would be out of order just before she’d closed the night before.

Knowing Elise, although she would feel uncomfortable about using the staff bathroom, her discomfort would fade at the thought of having to use a bathroom in whatsoever building her meeting was to hold. She would have no choice but to use the next closest bathroom.

Working quickly, Izzy reached in her boot and brought out the tiny vial she’d brought into the building with her—so small that no one noticed it in her boots, but powerful enough that just a drop would level a grown man.

She removed one of the pins that kept her hair in a chignon, dipped it in the vial, covered the vial right back, making sure to lock it tightly so the poison won’t come in contact with her skin and slipped it right back into her boot.

After that, it was merely the case of climbing onto the toilet seat and waiting.

Fifteen minutes later, the door to the bathroom swung open.

She heard footsteps, heavier treads that most likely belonged to the bodyguards that Elise Singer had made sure she never went anywhere without.

Izzy held her breath as first one door was open, closed, and then the steps moved on to the next door and did the same. There were seven stalls in this particular bathroom, and all but one was functional. Based on her calculations, the bodyguard should be making it to her stall right about…

The door on her stall jiggled once, and twice. But it didn’t budge open. She held her breath as she waited for what came next. The bodyguard dropped to the floor, palms stretched wide as he looked beneath the door to ascertain whether or not there really was someone in the stall.

Ever since Elise had beefed up both her personal and office security, the number of attempted threats on her life had dropped. The number of attempted threats that had been made on her life whilst she was at work had dropped even lower which was why Izzy wasn’t surprised that the guard didn’t do the next thing that he should have done usually: entered the adjacent toilet, braced himself on the wall and pushed up to peer over the stalls into the ‘unoccupied stall’ to confirm that it really was unoccupied.

As it was, the guard pushed back to his feet and his voice echoed in the quiet bathroom. “It’s all clear. You can enter Miss Singer.”

Elise as expected, didn’t say anything. The click clack of her stilettos were the only confirmation that she’d entered the bathroom.

The heavy treads of the bodyguard meanwhile soon faded away, and was followed by a quiet click that confirmed that Izzy was alone with Elise Singer.

A door two stalls away from Izzy opened and then closed.

Izzy slowly stepped down from the toilet seat, careful not to make any sound that would give her away. With her hand curled around the base of her hairpin, she smiled, carefully pulled her door open and took slow steps until she was behind the stall Elise was using.

Almost a minute later, Elise Singer stepped out, her back to Izzy as she faced the sink. She was so focused on it that she didn’t notice when Izzy slipped behind her.

One hand covered Elise’s mouth tightly so her screams were nothing but low muffled sounds that wouldn’t carry to the door. Elise fought back, her hands beating against Izzy. But she wasn’t as strong and it was almost anticlimactic how easy it was for the needle to make its way into the soft indentation of flesh that separated her ear from the start of her jawline.

The toxin worked fast and Elise went slack in her arms, paralysis kicking in almost instantaneously. In a few minutes, the arrhythmias would start and a heart attack would not be far behind.

Working fast, Izzy dragged Elise back to her stall, hefted her up and sat her back on the toilet seat. Elise slumped forward and Izzy pushed her back till her head rested against the back of the stall. Izzy checked Elise’s pulse, nodded at confirmation that it was rapidly dropping, and slipped out of the stall. She closed it behind her, walked back to her own stall and climbed on the toilet seat and waited.

Approximately twenty minutes later, the door swung open as several masculine voices called out with varying levels of trepidation. “Miss. Singer?”

Elise of course couldn’t respond and soon several footsteps entered the bathroom.

Izzy knew when they found Elise. Their voices went high, alarmed, as they called it in. And just like she’d guessed that they would, nobody came back to check the bathroom for any intruders. Instead they all filed out, minds focused on getting Elise to the hospital in the vain hopes that she could be saved.

Wasted effort really. BTX didn’t have an antidote.

Izzy waited for a long while, until silence returned and held, and then she exited the bathroom, going to the break room first to vend herself a soda, some chocolates and cookies.

Then she walked back up the stairs, and stopped short at the chaos that was her office.

“What’s happening?” Izzy asked Carol—one of the older assistants to the assistants.

“Miss. Singer. They said she had a heart attack.”

“A heart attack? Isn’t she too young to have one,” Izzy asked, well aware that anyone from the outside looking in would see her and see a woman slightly worried and slightly incredulous at the possibility of someone so young having to deal with such a thing.

“Yeah well. Shit happens. And the stress of work I’m sure hasn’t been easy on her,” another of their colleagues—Susan piped up. She didn’t complete her thought, although Izzy could read the words in her eyes. “Serves the bitch right.” She could see it in all their eyes. Words left unspoken even though their eyes said way more than they probably wanted it to.

“If you would, everyone please leave in a single line. No need to rush. We will be sure to call you all back in when this is all resolved,” Izzy heard her boss say.

He caught her eye and Izzy held up the soda and chocolate, a silent way of saying she took a detour to get herself a bite to eat. He nodded in understanding and then motioned for her to join the others.

And that was how Izzy found herself walking out of Singer Enterprises, her mind already imagining pouring herself a congratulatory glass of wine when she got home. Until she ran straight into the asshole head of security.

She apologized, kept her gaze low and continued on her way.

The doors were just closing behind her when she heard people inside the building cry out. She didn’t look back though. She didn’t need to. She knew what she would have seen. The dickwad head of security with a well-placed slice that tore through his main femoral artery. Izzy gave him seven minutes tops. And considering that half of the crowd were still exclaiming rather than calling for the medic, she was almost certain the asshole wouldn’t be groping unwilling women, in this lifetime.

Forty-five minutes later, she made her way into Hunter’s Moon: her favourite bar. Forget red wine, Izzy was in the mood to celebrate and knowing Eddie—short for Edwina, if you can believe it—there was most likely a bottle of Pátron with her name on it.

Izzy took her seat at the bar and sure enough, Eddie lined up some salt and lime and poured her a shot. Izzy sprinkled salt on the back of her palm, licked it, downed her shot in one go and sucked on the lime, enjoy the almost instant warmth and high the tequila brought in its wake.

She hummed and Eddie poured her another shot.

Izzy was just about to down that one as well when a commotion had her looking back.

The first thing she noticed were the curls. Short tight corkscrew curls that were cut short in a fro that framed a gorgeous oval face. Izzy was too far away to tell what colour her eyes were but she was sure there were most likely a lovely shade of brown, just a tad darker than her brown skin. And then, the woman smiled and Izzy forgot to breathe.

She forgot to do anything for a long moment as she stood and stared and observed. The drunks crowded around the woman but she didn’t seem threatened. If anything, she seemed amused. A little tilt to her mouth that was as mocking as it was beautiful.

But then the situation went crazy in a second as one of the men reached for the woman.

“Let me go Johnny. You know this isn’t going to end well for you.”

“Well, what if I don’t want it to Maia,” the man, Johnny replied with a leer. “What if I just want to try my luck. See what happens.” As he said those words he reached for her, for Maia, and Izzy found herself moving quickly… only to stop short when Maia held the outstretched hand, pulled Johnny towards herself and met the propelled Johnny with her elbow right in his face.

The man crumpled to the floor and Izzy grinned.

She looked down at Johnny. He’d been knocked out cold. She lifted her eyes and caught Maia just as she punched the second man straight in the face and then pulled the third man down to her height as she drove her knee straight up his abdomen. The third man made a strangled sound and joined his friends on the floor.

Izzy couldn’t help it. She clapped.

The noise brought Maia’s attention to her and… yes… they were a deep, deep brown. Even deeper than Izzy’s own eyes. Eyes so dark, she could lose herself in them.

“I’m impressed,” Izzy said with a smile and nudged her chin in the direction of the men on the floor. “Very fast. And very efficient.” She held out her hand. “I’m Izzy.”

Maia watched her for a long beat of time and then grinned as she took Izzy’s hand in hers. Her thumb slowly stroked across the back of Izzy’s palm and Izzy’s eyes met hers.

There was a challenge in them. A question. Barely restrained laughter. “Maia.”

Izzy found herself grinning right back. “Well, hello Maia. Can I, I don’t know, buy you a drink? And dinner?”

Maia’s grinned some more and Izzy’s smile widened. And so she was totally blindsided when instead of a ‘yes’, Maia replied with a “No thank you.”

“Oh,” Izzy replied. Usually she wasn’t one to get too hurt about dates not panning out, but something about not being able to drink and eventually take Maia to dinner hurt.

She made to take a step back but Maia’s grip on her hand tightened slightly and Izzy looked up to meet Maia who was still smiling. She felt a slight tug and moved closer to Maia who leaned in to close the distance and whispered against her ear. “I kind of have to work a shift right now. So, maybe after I’m done?” Maia jerked her chin at the bar and Izzy’s eyes followed the movement, trailing the curve of Maia’s neck, the slight scars on the side of her neck and the corner of Maia’s mouth.. “So if you’re willing to wait, we can always have dinner when I’m done with my shift?”

Like that was even an answer she needed to think about. “Yes. I don’t mind waiting.”

The words hung between them for a long moment. Neither of them said anything, just stood there, staring into each other eyes. Until someone shouted from the bar. “Are you just going to continue ogling my best customer or are you coming to start your shift, Roberts?”

Both Maia and Izzy turned to look at Eddie who winked and turned to pour a waiting customer a shot of whiskey.

“You’re new here,” Izzy said.

Maia nodded. “At the Hunter’s Moon? Yeah. In NYC? Kinda.”

“Well then, Maia Roberts, consider me your welcome wagon,” Izzy said with a smile. “Welcome to New York.”

“Well _hello_ New York.”

* * *

_Victim’s throat was slit in one stroke with an 11-inch blade. No hesitation, no halfway stops on the slice. Clearly the work of…_

Footsteps had Luke raising his head and gave him enough of a warning before Alaric plopped in the seat across from him. The expression on his face told Luke everything he needed to know. Alaric’s meeting with Mikey hadn’t gone anything like he’d wanted it to.

“Something wrong,” Luke asked as he closed the file he’d been reading on William Harrington III’s murder. As he’d expected, the job had been clean. Absolutely no details whatsoever to alert him as to who the killer was. And although he suspected that Magnus was probably working hard at answering that question at the moment, he was sure Magnus wouldn’t give him any information when he did finally figure out just who the man who had stolen his kill was.

Luke suppressed a sigh. He really wasn't looking forward to the bloodbath Magnus was about to unleash on their poor unsuspecting city.

“Mikey’s dead.”

Just like that, all thought of Harrington was wiped clean and Luke looked up to meet Alaric’s eyes. “When?”

“Yesterday evening. Heart attack.”

 _Yeah right_. “Do you believe that?”

Alaric cocked his head and gave him the ' _are you stupid_ ' glare.

Right. Luke rose from his desk and grabbed his jacket and gun.

Alaric followed him.

They said nothing as they got into the car. Said nothing on the drive to Mikey’s sister’s house in downtown Queens.

Her living room was packed full of well-wishers and friends. Every surface in the house covered with a wide variety of flowers and Tupperware that could only contain food.

Luke never did understand it. Why people thought bringing food was a good idea when they came to visit the bereaved. It wasn’t like the dead could eat the food, and the mourning family never paid it any mind either. Rarely did those who mourned have the self-thought to look after their own health.

And Naomi Altman was the very definition of a woman in mourning. Her eyes were a bloodshot red, her face still held the creases of her tears, her hair was matted, her clothes rumpled and slept in. But what truly gave it away were the intermittent tremors that wrecked her small frame.

“Naomi,” Alaric said.

Naomi’s eyes snapped up to meet theirs and then her face slowly crumbled, and she made a loud keening sound that had Alaric moving quickly to hold her. She rocked back and forth, her wailings, mixing with words, turning into gibberish that Alaric nodded to like he could understand.

He held her for several more moments until she calmed slightly, her wails reduced to the occasional hiccups.

“We’re so sorry,” Luke murmured.

Naomi nodded. “Thank you.”

“Naomi, where can I put this?”

The words came from yet another neighbor who held Tupperware in her hands. She looked around the room, confirmed that indeed there was no free spot where she could place her home cooked meal, and stared back up at Naomi.

Naomi rose to her feet and gestured at the woman to follow her, leaving Luke and Alaric with Yaakov, Daniel, Gad and Zev: Mikey’s friends.  

“How did it happen?” Alaric asked.

“It was sudden,” Daniel said.

“One minute we were arguing about last night’s game,” Gad added.

“Michael believed that the referee shouldn’t have called for the corner kick as the tackle wasn’t that bad, nor was it purposeful,” Zev said.

“And then, he just toppled over,” Yaakov finished. “One minute we were all shouting. And the next, he was gone...” His voice hitched. He cleared it slightly and continued. “You don’t think… It can’t be… Did we…”

“Did we maybe cause it?” Gad asked, eyes moving from Alaric to Luke’s and back again. “It all got pretty heated and we didn’t think.”

“I’m sure it has nothing to do with you,” Luke cut in. “Things like this happen. You couldn’t have predicted it. Where’s Lila?”

“Safe. She’s with her aunt in Camden,” Daniel answered. “We figured it would do her some good to get away from all of this. Poor girl didn’t have to see this.”

That Luke agreed with. Mikey's daughter shouldn't have to see this. He caught Alaric’s eye and nudged at the door.

It was about time they left.

“You’re leaving,” Naomi said as she returned to the living room. It wasn’t a question. She knew them well enough to be able to tell when they had to leave.

“Yes. We want to stop by at the coroner’s office. See what else we can find out.”

Naomi nodded. “I’d always figured he would be gone one day. Michael was a good father and brother, but the shit he got into.” She shook her head. “I knew it was only a matter of time before things went south and he got a bullet in his back for it. Even if he was friends with cops who saved him from making idiotic mistakes.” She gave a sad laugh. “I just never expected that he would die of a heart attack at thirty-six. How is that even possible?”

“It would surprise you that it happens more often than you know,” the coroner told Luke and Alaric the minute they got to the lab and asked him about his findings.

“So he really did die of a heart attack,” Luke asked.

Warren shrugged, his spindly shoulders rising and falling in quick moments. He slowly pulled off his gloves and flexed his bony fingers. “That’s what the tests say. And the tests don’t lie. Pity too. You know when we tell y’all to watch what you eat and drink and smoke down your lungs, y’all never listen until…”

Warren’s words faded into the distance as Luke stepped out into the hallway. Alaric joined him shortly afterwards, holding onto the autopsy report.

They shook their heads as they walked out of the lab and crossed the street to the station. “Is he ever going to stop getting on our case about healthy living?” Alaric asked.

“Now that we’ve brought him a body of someone who died so young? You bet your ass he isn’t stopping any time soon,” Luke replied.

Alaric chuckled and Luke joined him as they thought of Warren and his never-ending healthy living diatribe.

The chuckles dissolved into a smile as he caught sight of a flash of red hair. And then they were at his desk and he sank into her hug as he took in a deep breath, reveled in the smell of honeysuckle and jasmine.

He heard Joss’ chuckle, felt it go through her body as she spoke over his shoulder at Alaric. “That bad.”

Luke pulled back, cupped her chin, and pulled her into a kiss, delving into the warmth of her mouth. Tasting the sugared doughnuts and cappuccino she’d had. He pulled back, ran his fingers over her bottom lip and tsked at the light that danced in her eyes. “I can’t believe you brought me lunch but couldn’t be bothered to get yourself a proper lunch. Really Joss? Doughnut and coffee?”

“Hey, blame Warren,” Jocelyn answered with a laugh. She winked at Alaric who chuckled. “I ran into him last week and he went into this rant about me needing to feed you more. Something about policemen dying too soon because of ‘unhealthy eating habits’. And you know how much I want you to live a long, long life,” Jocelyn ended with a laugh.

“Well, I appreciate the concern for my health,” Luke replied and placed a soft kiss on her forehead. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Jocelyn replied. “So I take it you were coming from Warren’s?”

“Yeah,” Alaric replied and dropped the autopsy report on the desk in front of Jocelyn. “Mikey’s dead.”

“Mikey? Your CI? How? When?” Jocelyn asked as her gaze swung from Luke to Alaric.

Luke shrugged. “Heart attack.”

“Seriously? Heart attack? Damn!”

The exclamation had Luke and Alaric turning. They caught the eye of Archer and his partner Gustavo. The two men shook their heads in sympathy and Luke sighed.

“Wasn’t he like 35 though?” Jocelyn asked. Luke turned back to look at her and her furrowed brow. “That’s young.”

“36. And yeah, it _is_ young. Too young,” Alaric replied.

“And your sting?”

Alaric shrugged. “Looks like it’s back to the beginning. Have to find myself a new CI and a new in.”

“Who were you planning on catching anyway?” Jocelyn asked.

Something in her eyes, the way she asked the question had alarm bells ringing in Luke’s head.

“Pangborn,” Alaric answered.

“Pangborn? He interacts with so many different syndicates. You can always find an easy way in. I’m sure I can…”

“No,” Luke cut in, and shook his head. Jocelyn looked like she was about to protest so he quickly added. “You walked away from that life Joss. I don’t want you going back to it. It could get really…”

Captain Vargas’ door swung open and her voice thundered in the precinct. “Garroway! Rodriguez! My office. Now!”

She didn’t wait for them to answer. Merely entered her office and closed the door again.

Luke sighed and gestured at Alaric to go on ahead. He made to follow after him but stopped to pick up the autopsy report and cupped Jocelyn’s chin.

He placed a soft kiss on her lips and then pulled back slightly. “Really Joss. Stay away from it.”

Jocelyn hummed in reply and Luke walked towards Captain Vargas’ office, mind still caught up on Jocelyn and that look in her eyes.

Heavens save him from stubborn redheads.

* * *

The door had barely closed behind Susanna, Luke and Alaric when Jocelyn turned on her heel and walked out of the precinct. She waved to the officers that caught her eyes, ignored the ones that like to pretend she didn’t exist because of her past and instead focused on getting in her car and driving as fast as she could to the gallery.

She got there just as Dot was leading the customer to the painting Jocelyn had made when she and Clary had visited Brighton for Clary’s eighteenth birthday, two years prior. It had been nothing like they’d planned. She’d chosen the spot because she’d been expecting the calm and quiet of a quiet seaside town and had instead gotten a clash of culture and people who had all come to get their summer vacation groove on. Clary had loved it. Jocelyn had seen the town go from quiet blues and greens to the vivid red, splashes of orange and bright yellows that was the energy the tourists had brought in their wake. That bleed, that gradual transformation, she’d set out to and eventually managed to capture on canvas.

It was one of her favourite works. And there Dorothea was, trying to get the customer to fork out ten thousand more than the asking price she’d set on it.

And surprisingly enough, she succeeded.

Dot caught her eyes just as she was shaking hands with the customer and held out one finger for Jocelyn to hold on a moment. The move had the customer turning to meet Jocelyn’s eyes and Jocelyn smiled and nodded in greeting.

She got a solemn nod in response and she had to bite back her chuckles until the man had left.

“Seriously Dot? Twenty-five thousand dollars?”

Dot shrugged, her dark brown eyes lighting up as she twirled her necklace with her index finger. “It’s not my fault that some people are faux art people. Besides, isn’t it said that art is only as valuable as a buyer is able to pay for it?”

Jocelyn nodded. “True.”

“Besides, _Encroachment_ is beautiful and well worth the price. Mr. Freeman is lucky that I didn’t charge more.”

“Well thank you,” Jocelyn said and grinned when Dot regally inclined her head and then whipped out a piece of paper and pen.

Probably to write down Freeman’s details and the address he wanted the painting delivered to.

When Dot returned, Jocelyn walked to the door and flicked the sign from open to close.

Her eyes met Dot’s who looked questioning, but didn’t say anything. Just followed Jocelyn to the one part of the building that wasn’t open to the customers or the staff.

Jocelyb jiggled the sole key she held to the basement and pushed the door open, waiting until Dot had followed her in before she locked it behind them and then flicked on the fluorescent bulb.

The room was flooded with harsh white light that had the two of them squinting at the force of it. But then the light slowly dimmed and Jocelyn opened her eyes to shelves upon shelves of her prized guns—rifles and pistols—and her knives; from boot knives to combat knives, bowies and hunting knives. Her eyes glazed over the grenades she still had stockpiled and she spun around to look at Dot who stared steadily back at her; her twitching fingers the only sigh that Dorothea Rollins missed the tools of their former trade.

“Something happened?” Dot asked. “Someone is dead aren’t they?”

Jocelyn nodded and then moved to the only space in the room not filled to the brim with weapons. She then walked to the small backroom she’d had built in, and wheeled out her suspect board.

“Who is it?” Dot asked.

“Micheal Altman. Heart attack.”

“Alaric’s informant? Isn’t he the one that’s part of the…"

“The Tsuris syndicate? Yes, he is,” Jocelyn answered.

“Aren’t they really loyal to the Circle?”

Jocelyn nodded as she picked a red marker and drew a giant ‘X’ across Mikey’s face. . “They’re particularly loyal to the Pangborns and their smuggling and human experimentation ring.”

She took a couple of steps away from the board and looked at it: at the various syndicates, the bands of assassins, the high profile clients that have all died in the last couple of weeks and the giant question mark at the top of it all.

“Do you think it’s him? Valentine pulling the strings behind the shadows,” Dot asked.

Jocelyn flinched at the question, but shook her head. “It can’t be. I held the gun myself. Placed the nozzle right beneath his ribcage. Watched over him as he bled to death. He is not alive. There is no way he is. It h must be someone close to has to be someone who was close to him that’s behind it all. It reeks of madness with sanity at its heart. The outbreaks of violence, the consistently high assassination orders. The theft of Harrington’s vaccine.”

“Wait, I thought you anonymously paid Magnus to retrieve the case for you?” Dot interrupted.

Jocelyn shook her head. “I did. But Magnus came back to say someone else had gotten to Harrington before he did.”

Dot sighed. “Maybe if you tell them…”

Jocelyn shook her head. Hard. “This isn’t his fight. We can’t expect him to get involved in it. Especially with how hard he’s worked to stay out of the underworld; keeping things far away from his father.”

“Well what if we…”

“We aren’t going to take advantage of your relationship Dot. Cat will never forgive me,” Jocelyn interrupted.

Dot slid her an exasperated glance. “So what are we going to do then?”

Jocelyn shrugged. “We find out who killed Mikey and go from there.”

“I thought you said he died of a heart attack? Didn’t the coroner confirm it to be one?”

“And normally I would take Warren at his word. But I took a picture of the report…”

“And Luke didn’t notice,” Dot asked with a grin.

Jocelyn chuckled. “He was distracted.”

“I’ll bet,” Dot teased.

Jocelyn swatted at her. “But seriously though. Tell me, what do you think,” she asked as she showed Dot the picture of the report she'd taken using her phone.

Dot stepped closer, her forehead furrowed in a frown. “His ammonia levels are abnormally high.”

Her eyes widened and she looked up sharply at Jocelyn who nodded. “The only side effect to the undetectable poison you developed.

“But… I didn’t make the poison for anyone. Not in the last nine months. And we know it’s only potent for the first couple of weeks after you make it.”

Dot nodded. “Yeah. But you’re not the only person who can make it. You did teach someone else everything you know about the craft Dorothea.”

Dot met her eyes and they both sighed. “Clary.”

“Fuck,” Dot added.

It was a sentiment Jocelyn shared.

* * *

“Irresponsible. Unprofessional. There is absolutely no excuse. You went against a direct order? Even after I said that Jace will be the one to carry it out? I can see Isabelle doing that, but you Alec? You know better! You should know better. How can you…”

Jace tuned out the rest of Maryse’s rant. Although he kept his eyes on her, his mind was far away. With the way Izzy kept twitching, she wasn’t doing the same. She always was the one most affected by Maryse’s criticisms, the one who most wanted their mother’s acceptance and love, and the one that Maryse always went hardest on.

He’d tried puzzling out why, but had given up being able to figure it out ages ago. Few people could tell Maryse Lightwood’s motivations, and fewer of those people could puzzle out exactly why she seemed to on one hand expect the absolute best from her daughter, and on the other hand refuse to let her put that best that she’d acquired into practice. It was a conundrum he had no idea how to solve.

“What do you have to say for yourself Alec,” Maryse barked when silence followed her tirade.

Alec stood up straight and crossed his arms behind his back; the stance of a soldier.

Jace met Izzy’s eyes from their position flanking Alec and he suppressed a grin.

This was going to be good.

“Honestly mother, I don’t understand what you have against the entire affair,” Alec started calmly.

“Excuse me?”

“Last time I checked, the mark is dead,” Alec continued like Maryse hadn’t said anything. “And it’s not like the client, whoever they are, had specifically insisted that Elise Singer die at Jace’s hand. They wanted Elise dead and now she is. Izzy did a fantastic job. I suggest we leave it at that and let the matter go. Now is there anything else you would like to add mother? Something preferably that has nothing to do with the Singer job?” His eyes didn’t waver from the intense stare he was leveling at Maryse. It was a stare she returned in equal measure. Neither of them willing to back down from the challenge.

Finally Maryse sighed. “I will be back to brief you with your next job.”

And with that she hung up the call.

There was a brief moment of silence, but then Izzy rose from her seat and patted her hair. “Off to scourge through the wanted ads again. The Singer job has clearly served its purpose.”

“Yeah, but don’t resign for another month or so. It will be too suspicious if you walk away now,” Jace reminded her.

She rolled her eyes. “I know that. I’m not stupid.” She grinned and then eyed him from head to toe. “But I am impressed. Who would have thought that you had the brains to think that far ahead?”

He flipped her off and Izzy laughed.

“I’m going to the gym,” Alec muttered as he grabbed his keys. “Will probably stop by at Del Posto for dinner.”

Jace had been reaching for his car keys but stopped at the words.

He and Izzy turned around to look at Alec. “For the Bianchi pick up?” Jace asked, referencing the lone job Alec had picked up without Maryse's interference.

Alec nodded. “Might as well get us something to eat whilst we’re there. Anything in particular you’d prefer?”

“Their spinach tagliatelle,” Izzy said as she headed to her room.

Alec nodded and then turned his attention to Jace. “And you?”

“The ricotta-stuffed tortelli,” Jace answered.

“Any preferred wine to go with that?” Alec asked just as Jace reached for the door.

Jace turned back. “Any one you choose. I trust you.” He made to step out of the door but stopped at Alec’s words.

“You’re going to see him aren’t you?”

Him was Micheal Wayland: master assassin, criminal mastermind, and the adopted father who raised him from infancy till Jace reached pre-adolescence.

“I didn’t expect to see you so soon,” Micheal said with a smile from his spot on the other side of the glass that separated the inmates from their visitors.

“You’ve really been spending too long in here old man,” Jace muttered. “It’s been over three months since my last visit.”

Micheal shrugged. “What can I say? Time flies when you’re not with family.” His lips curved in a sardonic smile at the words. “How have you been Jonathan?”

Jace took a moment to look at him. After the death of Stephen and Celine Herondale, Micheal Wayland, their trusted friend and confidant had adopted their baby boy and raised him as his own. Micheal might not have been the best father, but he’d raised Jace with as much love as he could give. He had been the one who bought Jace his first pistol, taught him how to throw a knife and never miss a mark. He’d taught him everything he knew about the art of killing. Sure, the means had been pretty unconventional a lot of the time, but they’d worked. And now Jace stood at the other side of the glass, staring at the man he’d looked up to behind bars, with age and life fast catching up to him.

"As well as can be expected," Jace finally answered.

"And Maryse and Robert? They're still treating you well?"

At Robert's name, Jace's eyes narrowed; an instinctual reaction he couldn't control.

Micheal of course noticed. "What happened?"

"He's been pretty much incognito in the last six months," Jace replied. "And Maryse has been more curt. More abrupt. More unforgiving. He's cheating on her. And she knows it."

Micheal leaned back in his seat and tsked. "Isn't that a bit of a stretch?"

Jace said nothing. Just stared back at him.

Micheal sighed. "You had him followed didn't you?"

"Annamarie Highsmith. That's the name of the woman he's been seeing."

Micheal shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair as he muttered. "Again?" He looked up immediately he said it and sighed when he saw Jace's narrowed eyes.

"This isn't the first time he's sleeping with this woman?"

"They had an affair a long time back. Robert almost left Maryse to be with her," Micheal answered. "But then they had Max and Robert stayed."

"And now that Max is all grown he can't keep his dick in his pants anymore," Jace muttered, mind working fast as he plotted just how best to relieve Robert of that particular appendage.

"Don't!"

The word snapped him back to the present and to Micheal who now leaned forward and was staring right at him. "It's Maryse's fight. Don't get in the middle of it."

Jace opened his mouth to argue but Micheal beat him to it. "Trust me. Maryse can handle it herself. Let her deal with Robert herself. How are Alec, Isabelle and Max?"

Jace scowled. Trust Micheal to know that talking about his siblings was the one way to get him to drop whatever he was obsessing about. "Good. Max's about done with the term. He should be returning home soon."

Micheal chuckled. "Does he still want you to teach him how to use knives?"

"And he's convinced Alec to teach him how to use a sniper rifle. Knowing him, he would probably get one for his birthday," Jace muttered, although he couldn't keep the smile off his face.

Micheal's chuckles turned into a full on laugh and Jace joined in. "And Isabelle?"

"She's good as well. We just finished a job so she's waiting on her next orders."

"Alec?"

Thoughts of Alec had him remembering Magnus and Jace's smiled waned.

"What happened?"

"He ran into Magnus Bane a couple of days ago." He looked up at Micheal whose eyes went sharp and hard.

"I warned you Jonathan. You stay away from Magnus Bane."

Jace's eyes narrowed. "You expect me to walk away? I've been looking forward to meeting him. Been counting the days until I could get the chance to stick a knife in his back. And now you expect me to walk away?"

Micheal rubbed his forehead and sighed. "You will eventually have to let this go son."

"I doubt that," Jace interrupted. "It's because of him that you're in jail now. If that fifteen year old asshole hadn't intercepted your kill, they wouldn't have caught you."

"That's not how it…"

"He humiliated you. Had everyone talking about how you got bested by a child. He rode on that. And you? They left you here to rot. We both know whose fault this is."

Micheal shook his head. "There's so much you don't know."

Movement from the corner of his eyes had Jace rising from his seat. They had fifteen seconds tops after which the guards would come and take Micheal back into his cell. "I know enough. I'll be back to check on you."

Micheal made to say something more, but then the guards were beside him and he snapped his mouth shut and walked away.

An hour later, Jace found himself in the one place he always went to every time he was upset. The sign outside Peepers and Pages said _Open Mic Night every Thursday_ and Jace smiled as he walked through the doors into the old and quaint bookstore.

Sure it was still Tuesday, but if there was anything he knew for certain, it was that he would find his way here come Thursday. He never could miss a performance by _Rock Solid Panda minus the Rock Solid_ —and yeah he knew just how strange that was for a band name but he loved it anyway—if he could help it. Nor could he keep himself from being drawn to the lonesome panda who was at the moment stocking up shelves whilst humming to himself.

Jace followed the movement; trying for subtle as he tried to place what song Simon was humming to. Sounded like a mash up of Sum41 and Radiohead.

Simon did a little stretch as he reached for a book on the top shelf and showed a sliver of skin and the band of a checkered Hanes boxer shorts. Jace swallowed and had to suppress a laugh when Simon did a little butt wiggle to the song he was still whistling to. Jace turned around and reached for the books he came for, occasionally glancing behind himself to check up on Simon who was still stocking up.

He grabbed Audre Lorde's _Sister Outsider_ for Izzy, Nikolai Gogol's _Dead Souls_ for Alec and Chuck Palahniuk's _Survivor_ for himself.

Somewhere between finding the books, he realized with a start that he'd lost sight of Simon.

A quick glance around didn't turn up Simon anywhere and he turned to look at the checkout counter. Old Man Paulie was there, tuning an ancient radio as he waited for the customers to come pay for their purchases and be on their way out of the store, but there was no Simon.

Drat!

Jace was so distracted that he jumped when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He gripped it tightly and then whipped around, arm pulled back, fist clenched, ready to let it fly into the face of the idiot who had startled him, and then dropped his hand in shock when he saw Simon staring up at him.

He had on his glasses today and cocked his head slightly to the side as he stared up at Jace.

Jace cleared his throat. "Um. Hi."

Simon nodded. "It's you."

"Excuse me?"

"You're the guy. The guy from the street at the synagogue." Simon's eyes narrowed. "Are you following me?"

Jace blinked. The words danced somewhere in the periphery of his senses but he couldn't reach them.

Especially not when Simon flashed him a blinding grin and then chuckled. "Cat got your pretty tongue?" He blushed after saying it, but still held Jace's gaze and it was Jace's turn to chuckle.

"You think I'm pretty?"

"Do you need a mirror?" Simon tossed back. He leaned back a bit and ran an appreciative look from Jace's booted feet to his face. "I didn't take you for the humble type."

Jace burst out laughing, feeling warm at just how pleased Simon looked at his response. He shook his head. "I'm anything but humble."

"Why am I not surprised?" Simon snorted.

Jace gestured at Simon's Lany's _lonely lovers_ hoodie in burnt orange. "It was your shirt."

Simon's face furrowed into a confused frown and Jace smiled.

_Gods he looked adorable._

"Not the one you're wearing right now. The one you were wearing back then. Nirvana's _In Utero tour crew shirt_. Rare. Expensive. Eye-catching."

Simon gave a slow nod, lips curved into a smile. "Got if off my mum. She's a big fan."

"Nice. I've only seen them online. Never found someone willing to sell theirs. What do they go for now? Five thousand?"

"Seven," Simon replied, the grin still set wide on his face. Gone was the suspicious glint in his eyes. In its place, the joy of a twenty year old boy talking about his favourite bands. "You a fan?"

"Of vintage and rare band t-shirts? Obviously not as big a fan as you," Jace teased.

That got him a laugh and Simon visibly relaxed. "So do you attend the synagogue as well," Simon asked, bringing them back to the reason why he'd approached Jace in the first place. He might have eased off on his suspicions, but it didn't mean he wasn't still waiting for his moment to strike, waiting to see if Jace knew more about him than he was letting on.

"Nah. I was on my way back from Fine and Schapiro."

Simon's tongue darted out and licked his bottom lip. Jace couldn't help it. He followed the movement, eyes tracking the slip of pink tongue before his eyes rose to meet Simon whose eyes had a knowing gleam.

_Tease._

"Their knishes are to die for," Simon murmured.

"And people should erect an altar to worship the perfection that's their brisket."

Simon moaned, eyes closing as he threw his head back, showing a long line of sun-kissed neck.

Now it was Jace's turn to lick his lips.

Simon finally opened his eyes with a sigh, and then gave himself a little shake. "Pardon me. Name's Simon Lewis."

"I know."

Simon raised a brow.

Jace held up the books he'd picked. "I come here often. I'm particularly a big fan of open mic Thursdays."

Simon blushed and Jace grinned. "I'm Jace," Jace said. "Herondale," he added at the last moment, catching himself from using 'Wayland'. The name was too familiar in their line of work, especially with the way his father had crashed and burned. "How about a cup of coffee. With me?"

Simon tilted his head, a slightly amused smile his only response.

"I know a place where they serve the most delicious Babka you've ever tasted."

That got him a challenging look. "Are you sure about that? Nobody's Babka's as good as my Bubbie Helen."

"Only one way to find out," Jace replied and laughed when Simon gave him a knowing look.

"I still have to work for another three hours though," Simon finally murmured.

Jace waved his book and walked to one of the chairs by the windows, right across from Simon. "I'll just get some reading done while I wait then."

Simon grinned and turned his attention back to the shelves, stacking books with whilst humming a song; this one, Van Halen's _Jump_.

Jace waved _Survivor_ at Old Paulie so the man would know he still had every intention of paying for the book when it was time for him to leave, and then held the book at eyelevel as he tried reading chapter one, all the while keeping an eye out for Simon whilst humming Van Halen's _Jump_ to himself.

* * *

Del Posto was a god-awful din of New Yorkers, braving the meatpacking district to get the best of Italian cuisine. Usually, it didn't bother him. Because more often than not, he only showed up during the workweek when there were less people than there would be during the weekend.

Today however, proved different. Very different. Alec's eyes scanned the room briefly and then returned to the waiter who'd finally showed up to take his order.

Placing it was easy enough; they'd eaten at Del Posto so many times Alec could place his order without thought, especially when he and his siblings had agreed on what they wanted before he left the house.

It meant he had enough time to turn away from the Pianist regaling the room with Beethoven's _Piano Sonata No. 17 in D minor, Op. 31, No. 2_. It was a powerful piece, the pianist fingers flying over the keys, as he got to the storm in the first movement sucking the peace he'd initially started with.

Something in the piece had Alec feeling even more reckless than usual and his eyes wandered, taking note of the couples paired at the tables; the candles floating in the Rogaska crystal bowls, bathing their face in an ethereal glow.

It would have been a stunning sight. If not for the bored majority that dotted the landscape.

Alec's phone beeped and he reached for it. Fingers sliding to unlock it and he took note of Giovanni Ricci's face, and the embossed envelope he was to retrieve for Manuel Bianchi, from the Giovanni's preferably dead hands.

Nodding, he slid the phone back in the pocket of his slacks and his eyes went back to taking in the crowd: the honeymooning couple down the aisle who couldn't look away from staring into each other's eyes. The group of friends who were well on their way to being completely drunk if the way they couldn't stop laughing was any indication. And then back to the bored diners who looked like they would rather be anywhere else but sitting across from their dates.

Something in the way the one who sat across from him nodded at his date had Alec paying closer attention.

A patron climbing up the stairs temporarily blocked his view of the other man. But then the customer had found his seat and Alec once again had an unhindered view to the bored customer.

_There was no way. It couldn't be._

The universe couldn't have ensured that he and Magnus Bane didn't cross paths for the more than two years that he and his siblings had moved to NYC, and now made it that he would run into the man twice within the space of days.

But then the man's date said something and he rolled his eyes and turned away, and his eyes met Alec's and Alec forgot how to breathe.

Fuck.

It _was_ Magnus Bane. Gone was the all black getup he'd had on the first night they'd met. Instead of a long sleeved top, he had on a red silk shirt. The top four buttons open, showing a sliver of skin that only peeked through when the four set of necklaces he'd piled on shifted with every subtle movement. His pants were tailored, slim fitted and black, and ended in red patent leather shoes with kisses of black. The streaks in his hair were red the rings on his fingers glittered as he raised his glass of bourbon in Alec's direction in a toast, and then brought it to his lips as he took a sip.

Alec stood, walked around the customers and made his way to the table where Magnus sat with his date.

He'd just about gotten there when Magnus' date took a gulp of wine, whispered something in Magnus' ear and then walked towards the bathroom.

All the voices at the back of his mind were screaming at him to get the hell out of dodge. Unfortunately, he lost all common sense when it had anything to do with the most deadly men in their city and Alec found himself taking the spot recently vacated by Magnus' date, his breath catching when Magnus leveled those kohl lined eyes on him.

Magnus grinned and leaned back in his seat, looking the most animated since Alec had spotted him. "So tell me Alexander Lightwood…" Alec shivered at the way the 'Alexander' rolled off Magnus' tongue. It sounded like warm fingers dancing along the edge of his spine, light and teasing, making him ache. "Are you stupid or do you have a death wish?"

"Do I have to be either?" Alec tossed back. "Can't I just be a man who wants to have dinner with a gorgeous man. Can you fault me for that?"

"I can fault you for a lot of things Alexander. Chief of which is the fact that you _did_ just steal from me, a couple of days ago."

Alec cocked his head. "Are you really one to talk? You did do a lot of stealing other people's kills when you were much younger, and some would say, willfully stupid."

Magnus' lips curved into a smile. "So you _are_ admitting to being young and willfully stupid?"

He lifted the glass of bourbon to his lips and took a couple more sips. Alec's eyes followed the movement, tracking the bob of Magnus' Adam's apple as the other man swallowed, grinning in response when Magnus noticed and that goateed mouth curved in a smile. "Some would say that I _am_ young and willfully stupid. Who else but an idiot will actually come and sit across from you, considering our last meeting didn't go so well? I'm Alec Lightwood by the way." He grinned. "But then you already knew that didn't you? You _are_ Magnus Bane after all."

Magnus raised a brow. "Oh? Is that so? You know me that well huhn?"

"Is there anyone who does what we do who hasn't heard of _the_ Magnus Bane? You carried out your first kill at seven. A perfect shot. The cops still haven't solved the case. You took out a syndicate at thirteen. Went head to head against one of the deadliest assassins alive at fifteen and not only did you live to tell the tale but you took that kill from him. At seventeen, you took on the title of the deadliest assassin. Really. Who hasn't heard of Brooklyn's Killing Machine?"

Talking about it had Alec practically vibrating. His clothes felt too tight, his dick pulsing with excitement, watching those brown eyes remain detached even as Magnus' lips twisted into a mocking smile. He was every bit the deadly prince of the underworld. So much power. So much destruction. A death toll that the rest of them could only dream of. And he looked even better in person than how he'd been described. Alec's fingers ached to touch him. His mouth ached to taste him. Excitement thrummed through him, sending his senses into overdrive.

"You talk like I'm a phantom who's way older, when I've only got what? Three years on you?" Magnus teased.

"Five," Alec replied.

Magnus grinned and his gaze dropped.

Alec flicked out his tongue and licked his lips, hiding a smile when Magnus' eyes darkened in response.

Magnus opened his mouth to say something but then his date returned and he snapped his mouth shut with a click.

Fuck.

Alec turned to glare at the asshole and then stopped short when he recognized him. His eyes swung to Magnus who grinned back at him, and followed it with a wink.

And right at that moment, Giovanni Ricci gasped and clutched at his throat. He teetered forward a couple of steps and then dropped to the floor, bringing the unoccupied table that was right beside him, tumbling to the floor with him.

Startled cries rang out in the restaurant and the waiting staff all rushed to Giovanni who was fast turning blue as he gasped for breath.

He heard someone call for nine-one-one, another person tried carrying out CPR, and still others loosened Giovanni's tie with the vague hope that it would help the other man breathe.

Alec did not expect any of it to work. He didn't expect Giovanni to survive whatsoever poison Magnus had slipped in his drink. Just like he wasn't surprised that when he turned back, Magnus wasn't sitting across from him anymore. Instead, he was almost at the door.

He met Alec's eyes, waved the embossed envelope Alec had come to retrieve at Alec and then stopped to pay for his meal.  
Considering that the maître D' attended to Magnus even though the man's eyes kept drifting to the customer choking to death and didn't attempt to stop Magnus from leaving, confirmed that Giovanni Ricci hadn't been Magnus' date. He had merely been trying to strike up conversation with Magnus; a conversation that Magnus had visibly not had any interest in; something the cameras at Del Posto must have certainly caught. What they wouldn't catch though would be the moment Magnus had poisoned the man.

Alec found his head twitching in a wry smile as he shook his head and walked back to his table just as the waiter who had attended to him came with his packaged dinner and a note.

Alec raised a brow, but the waiter merely shrugged, handed him the note and went to join his fellow staff members in keeping Giovanni alive long enough for when the ambulance came.

Alec unfolded the note.

_Alexander. Let's say this makes us even. Have dinner with me sometime this week. We'll be willfully stupid together. Magnus Bane._

The smile turned into a laugh and Alec shook his head as he stared at the note, fingers running over the number that was penned at the bottom of the page.

_Willfully stupid indeed._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the end of chapter Two. What do you think? Do you think I'm biting way more than I can chew? Is the story exhausting? Have comments, questions or do you just want to scream at me? No worries. You can find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/themagnus_bane). I promise I don't bite ;). If you'd rather look for me on tumblr (where I have shortish cannon based drabbles: they range from 600 words to 1.3k), you can find me [here](http://themagnusbane.tumblr.com/). Just go to the "My Writing" page and enjoy.


	3. Why Be Sweet, Why Be Careful, Why Be Kind?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magnus gets back to the loft, and a conversation with his friends has them all realizing that things might not be as they seem. Jocelyn's secrets threaten to come out, and one friend has discovered just what she is hiding. Simon basks in his new relationship, delighting in just how well things are going as he takes the next step. Maia receives a message from her past and Magnus is dealt news he hadn't been prepared for, in any way at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> {Sigh}
> 
> Where do I begin? Let me first start by saying I am sorry. God I am so sorry. I am so fucking sorry. I am sorry it's taken months for me to update this story. 7 months as a matter of fact. I mentioned in a new fic I started three weeks ago that I was going to explain why I took such a long break. So here it is...
> 
> I have been depressed. Except, this particular episode crept up on me. So slowly I didn't see it coming. Until 7 months later, I raised my head and realized that I couldn't find joy in anything. That loneliness had become a friend. That that feeling of worthlessness was a trusted companion. I am better now. Slowly getting back into things. I had stopped writing, or reading, or watching kdramas or anime or even tv shows. The things that used to bring me joy turned dry as dust and I remained uninspired, and uninterested. If you follow me on tumblr, you probably noticed that,
> 
> But like I said. Things are getting much better. The world has started to regain its colour. I started a new multi-chaptered fic called: Woven in my soul. Check it out. Tell me what you think. And now, I've put up the third chapter for the killing machine, which you're about to read. The plan was to put this up two weeks ago, or at most last week. But the chapter ended up at roughly 15k, and it was crazy to write. But it's up now, and I am proud. Let me know what you think. I will be updating woven in my soul in two weeks, and then the killing machine in another two weeks after that. Hopefully you'll will be here for it.
> 
> As always, this chaptered hasn't been beta'd. All mistakes are mine and mine alone, and I really do apologize for them. If you're interested in seeing the moodboard for this fic, you can find it [here](http://themagnusbane.tumblr.com/post/172697668097/the-killing-machine-chapter-3).

Magnus skipped his way into the high-rise building that housed his loft. The building doorman tipped his hat as he opened the door, and Magnus winked at him, suppressing a laugh at the slight twitch the act brought to Joshua's mouth. The normally stalwart doorman was as serious as they came. He was tall, of a slender build, and self-contained. If not that his job actually entailed him opening the doors and helping the residents in whatever way they needed him to, some would assume he were a statue.

But statues didn't have eyes that danced, or lips that twitched like they weren't sure if they wanted to laugh or ask Magnus exactly what had put him in such a good mood.

His good mood stayed with him as he walked across the lobby to the private elevators that led directly to his loft at the top of the building—perks of being the owner of the whole place, although few residents were aware of that. It stayed with him as he pressed the singular button that shot him straight to the very top, opening with a ding once it arrived on his floor.

His feet sank into the plush carpeting as he made his way to the door, his mind going back to hazel eyes and a cocky grin. He could hear Alec's laughter at the back of his mind, could imagine how he would have laughed when he got the note asking that they be willfully stupid together.

The thought made him laugh, and the laughter carried as he turned the lock, pulled open his door and walked into his home to find every corner of it occupied by friends with no concept of locked doors or much desired privacy.

"What the fuck?!"

They looked up from their positions—Raphael who had been staring out at the sky through his window, Gretel who had raided his kitchen and walked out with her fingers buried in a cookie tin, crumbs of biscuits scattered all across her mouth. Ragnor who had made himself comfortable in front of his bookshelves, Cat who was mixing a cocktail—probably a Daiquiri—at the bar, Simon who'd commandeered his television and was playing a game of keep Clary away from the remote with Maia. Clary looked like she was a minute away from pulling out a hairpin and going all bloody murder. Not like her glare fazed her friends who alternated between teasing her, and trying to agree on what they should watch next. Luke was on the phone, the way he moved his hands, and the soft smile on his face, a dead giveaway that he was talking to Jocelyn.

The moment the door closed behind Magnus with a resounding click, every eye in the room turned to him.

Magnus sighed. "This is the fourth time this month that I've changed the locks. And yet," he stretched out his hands to encompass the room, and by extension his friends, "here you all are. Again." He grinned, more teeth than actual smile. "Like cockroaches."

Simon and Clary chuckled. Their mirth clearly communicating that they thought he was being silly. The rest of his friends looked at him like he'd lost his damn mind. Maia pointed at herself, and then at the rest of them. "You do know we're assassins, right?"

"Like, we actually break into homes, and offices and places where we shouldn't be able to get access to, so we can carry out our jobs," Gretel added. A slight twinge of _is it me or is he down a couple of brain cells_ running beneath the words.

Magnus glared at her, and she rolled her eyes. Gretel Monroe was nothing, if not disrespectful of the natural order of things. If he didn't like her so much, he would have strangled her in her sleep.

Maia coughed.

But that would mean Maia would come for him, and knowing her, she was bloodthirsty enough to take off his balls for doing that. He loved his balls. So Gretel stayed.

"Plus, Joshua is more loyal to me than he is to you," Cat said as she walked around the sofa, giving Clary and Simon a wide berth—the two were now silently glaring at each other, whilst Maia surfed through the channels, with her prize in hand—as she walked over and handed Magnus a glass.

He took a sip. Hmmm. Daiquiri. Just as he'd expected.

"No he isn't," Magnus murmured.

Cat shook her head, staring at him with the eyes of one who regularly indulged him. "You might pay his bills, but I am sure I know more about the man's personal life than you do."

Magnus opened his mouth to argue about that, but she cut in. "How old are his kids? Where are they going to school? Why did his wife retire from her job? Why has his doctor changed his medication?" She smiled when all that got her was a confused stare. "You are jovial and cheerful. But it's all a front Magnus." She tapped his forehead lightly. "He knows nothing about you, and you know next to nothing about him. That's how it goes in our line of work. Any other way, and the bodies start to drop."

Magnus eyed her. "And yet—"

"And yet we waste hours, talking about your doorman when there are more pressing matters," Raphael cut in as he strode over to Magnus. He held out his hand, the air about him just about vibrating with the impatient edge he was emitting. "Did you get it?"

Magnus raised a brow. "Did you doubt that I would?"

Raphael shrugged. "What can I say? The last time you had one job to do—get the case and kill the mark—you failed. Forgive me, for not holding out hope that this time, things were any different."

"Fuck you Raphael."

Raphael smirked and wiggled his fingers, silently urging Magnus to get to it, and hand over the envelope.

Magnus rolled his eyes, pushing by Raphael until he got to the center of the room. He dragged one of the wingback chairs until he was seated in front of the giant oak table that took up the center spot in the living room, and waited until the others had gathered all around him.

Cat provided him with the letter opener, and he felt a hum of satisfaction as he slid the bladed edge beneath the envelope. Pulling out the contents, his eyes lighted on the black and white pictures, and a single coordinate printed on a tiny scrap of paper.

The coordinate might have been information leading him to his quarry, but he couldn't take his eyes off the tall, lanky man in the pictures. He looked flawless as always in his all black suit, the camera capturing that moment when he was adjusting his cufflinks, a smirk on his lips as he stared right into the camera. Like he somehow sensed that a couple of weeks after the picture had been taken, Magnus would be staring down at it.

Azaziel had always been a pompous son of a bitch.

"Fuck," Luke breathed over his shoulder. "It really is him."

"I thought the rumours were that he was dead," Cat said. She tried to hide it, but he could hear the worry in her voice. More so when the worry was directed at him.

Magnus shrugged. "You know how things work in our line of work Catarina. Never assume an assassin is dead unless you pulled the trigger yourself and set the match that set them ablaze."

She sucked in a breath and he reached out behind him, and gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. She rubbed his shoulders in return, and both their attention returned to the pictures.

"It still doesn't mean those coordinates will finally lead us to him though," Raphael muttered. His eyes scanned the room, voicing the thoughts others had but hadn't shared. "We've stumbled on way too many dead ends in our search to assume that this is the Holy Grail, Magnus. You know that."

"I don't think that's the case this time around though," Magnus said. When everyone looked askance at him, he shrugged. "Someone else found the package important enough to hire another assassin to kill Giovanni Ricci and grab the envelope he was carrying."

"So?" Ragnor asked with a shrug. "That's the nature of the business we're in Magnus. You want something you hire an assassin. Nine times out of ten, you're going to learn that someone else wants it too. There's nothing new or special about it. It's the life we live."

Magnus nodded. "That's true." He waited a moment, until Ragnor looked like he was about to rise from his chair—probably to go back to skulking by his bookshelves—then he dropped the bomb. "Unless the person they hire for the job, is a certain Lightwood whose path has already crossed mine earlier."

Immediately he said the words, the room changed. Ragnor sat back so fast; Magnus said a silent thank you to whichever deity was listening that had kept his chair unbroken. "Did you say Lightwood?" Ragnor asked.

"As in, _Alec Lightwood_?" Clary asked.

Magnus nodded. Fighting back a smile at the way they all unanimously leaned forward, silently asking him to spill the details.

"Turned out someone had hired him to relieve Giovanni Ricci of his package. Fortunately, I got there first, slipped in a bit of poison," he inclined his head in Clary's direction, silently thanking her for it. She beamed. "He dropped several minutes after. I grabbed the package and left."

Simon's eyes narrowed. "That's it?"

"Nothing else happened?" Gretel asked, her disbelief as clear as day.

Magnus nodded.

"And you were calm when you met him?" She crossed her arms and scoffed. "What happened to the Magnus Bane who would gut a man for stealing his job?" She looked around incredulously. "Or am I the only one who can smell the bullshit." Magnus made to talk but she forged ahead. "He _stole_ your kill a couple of days ago! He left you with the body." She brought her thumb and index finger closer together. "You were this _close_ to getting caught and framed for the _one_ murder you didn't commit. What is _wrong_ with you?" Her eyes narrowed. "How cute is this Alec Lightwood."

"What the—"

"Ignore her Magnus," Cat interrupted with a laugh. "I for one am proud that you acted civil. Her smile turned mischievous. "It's surprisingly smart of you."

He flipped her off, and nearly jumped back when Raphael swung around to his side of the table and wagged his finger in his face. "Raphael! What the—"

"You've started thinking with your dick again haven't you," Raphael growled.

"Seriously Raphael? Do you _really_ think so little of me?"

Raphael didn't hesitate. "Yes." He ignored everyone else's burst of laughter and pointed at Magnus. "We know you. Plus, you've got that look in your eyes."

"Look?"

"Yes. Like you're a couple of minutes away from being completely smitten and changing your name to Lightwood-Bane."

It didn't even deserve a response, so Magnus did the next best thing. He flipped off Raphael, who merely crossed his arms and kept glaring at Magnus.

He was _not_ smitten with Alec Lightwood. His eyes danced away, until they met Ragnor. Ragnor who was staring at him intently, his eyes getting that slight out of focus look like his mind was miles away, even though his body was physically present.

"What?" Magnus asked.

Ragnor just continued to stare at him, seeing him, but not really seeing him at the same time.

"Ragnor Fell!" Magnus snapped. When that startled Ragnor out of whatever trance he'd fallen into, Magnus asked. "What is it?"

Ragnor shrugged. "It's nothing." When Magnus continued to stare at him, he finally spoke. "It's just… don't you think it's… too much of a coincidence though?" His eyes scanned the room, looking for someone who agreed with his thoughts.

Luke nodded. "I'm just as curious." His eyes wandered over to Magnus. "This is the second time you're running into the Lightwood Boy in less than a week. Seems to me like someone is purposefully putting him in your way."

Magnus couldn't help it. He laughed, and then waved off the twin looks of annoyance that crossed both Ragnor and Luke's faces. "I don't mean to laugh, it's just…" He pointed at Luke. "Obviously police work is getting to you." He jerked his chin at Ragnor. "And your paranoia is showing again, Ragnor."

Luke cocked his head, the expression on his face making it clear that he was deliberating Magnus' words. Finally he nodded, and smiled. Ragnor meanwhile rolled his eyes.

He opened his mouth, probably to say one more reason why he believed his paranoia was valid when apartment door swung open again, and in strolled Alaric.

"Of course you have a key to my apartment as well," Magnus muttered snidely as he strode to the bar to fix himself a Bloody Mary. It seemed the drink most fitting for his present situation.

Alaric, for the first time ever ignored his words and instead made a beeline for Luke. He held out a file and waited impatiently for Luke to flip through the pages.

"This… This is impossible," Luke finally said as he looked up from the file.

Alaric shook his head. "Warren confirmed it himself. He was the one that brought it up. After noting the similarities when he was logging in the details for Mikey's _heart attack_. His ammonia, glucose and micros level were exactly the same as that of a vic brought in five years ago."

"Which vic?" Luke asked.

"Charles Freeman. Caucasian male. Five-nine. Blonde hair. Light blue eyes. Was one of the original circle members, scurrying about with the vain hope to install a new leader. Until he was poisoned that is," Alaric replied.

"And Mikey's readings were identical to his?"

"Down to elevated zinc levels." He nodded at the unasked question he saw on Luke's face. "Michael didn't die of a heart attack, he was murdered."

The words pulled a gasp from the corner of the room and everyone turned to look at Simon whose mouth hung open, his eyes wide and startled as he alternated between staring back at them, and silently communicating with Clary who looked just as stunned as he did.

"What?" Alaric snapped.

"When you say Michael, do you mean Michael Altman?"

"You know him?" Luke asked.

Simon nodded and licked his lips; a nervous habit he only exhibited when he was unsure how best to break news he was sure people wouldn't react so well to. Magnus braced himself. "Yes I do." His expression turned apologetic. "He was my mark."

Alaric froze, looking like the littlest of breeze would blow him over. "He was what?"

"My mark," Simon repeated. "I got a client request." He held out his hand before either Luke or Alaric could speak. "And before you ask, it was anonymous, like every bit of work we get."

"But—" Alaric started to say.

"You know it's our policy," Simon reminded them. "We never meet with the client directly."

"And what happened next," Magnus asked as he went back to his seat, taking several mouthfuls of his Bloody Mary.

"I read through the terms. The client wanted Mikey's death to look natural." He shrugged and pointed at Clary. "So I had Clary make me the poison."

They all turned to look at Clary in stunned amazement, even Alaric who looked like he was about to start complaining about Simon's kill.

Clary blinked at them. "What?"

Raphael was the first to speak. " _You_ made the poison."

Clary rolled her eyes. "Of course. The last time Simon tried mixing poison, he almost killed himself."

Simon gave a sheepish laugh, but his laugh did nothing to discourage everyone else who continued staring at Clary like she was alien. Which, if Magnus was being honest, was the same question he was presently asking himself. Who would have thought Clary Fray had the ability or patience to make such a poison?

"You actually have the skill to make a poison that would kill someone quickly and without them feeling any pain?" Luke asked incredulously.

"Maybe she's ill?" Cat wondered aloud.

"She probably swapped bodies with an alien," Raphael muttered, looking suspicious enough that for a brief moment, Magnus considered that Raphael might actually believe what he'd just said. He fought a chuckle.

"Or maybe someone hit her on the back of her head," Maia added as she walked behind Clary, feeling for the bump that would confirm her own supposition.

Clary slapped her hands away, and glared.

"Maybe she has a twin sister," Gretel said, looking proud that she'd come up with the obvious explanation to the situation.

Just as they all started to nod, Ragnor cut in, his eyes staring up at the ceiling. "Heavens save me from the idiots you have seen fit to surround me with."

"Hey!"

"What the hell Ragnor!"

"Who the hell are you calling an idiot?"

Ragnor rolled his eyes. "The answer is pretty obvious, if only you all allowed yourselves to think about it." He pointed at Clary. "She isn't the one that came up with the formula she used to make the poison."

Their mouths opened in a collective oh, and then they nodded.

That made way much sense. Although Magnus knew confirming it aloud to Ragnor would mean they would never hear the end of it. Thankfully, nobody said it aloud, so they were spared from Ragnor's overly inflated ego for one night.

"Wait a minute," Clary said as she glared around the room. "Why are you all assuming I wasn't the one that came up with the original formula? Who said I can't do it?"

Magnus rose from his seat and stooped down until he was at eye level with Clary. He held her hands. "Biscuit, have you met you?"

She burst out laughing, and flipped him off.

Everyone joined in the laughter, temporarily forgetting the origin of the entire conversation. Alaric however, was there to bring them back to earth. "Why are you all laughing?" He hissed and pointed at Simon. "He killed my CI! My in to the Tsuris and the only lead we had to nabbing Pangborn for all the shit he's done."

They all winced at the name.

Magnus scowled. "That fucker deserves to die."

Clary nodded. "But he can't just have a regular death though. His has to be bloody and very painful." Her eyes narrowed and she grit her teeth. Hard. "I'm talking cutting him with a million razor blades and while he is still alive, dropping him into a boiling vat of alcohol."

Their conversations screeched to a halt and everyone stared horrified at her. Everyone, except Raphael who seemed more impressed than horrified.

"What?" Clary asked, looking genuinely confused, like she could not fathom why they were all staring at her like that.

Magnus chuckled and patted her hair. "Never change, Biscuit."

Clary beamed at the praise.

Luke sighed. "Don't encourage her Magnus."

Magnus shrugged and motioned at Luke to scoot over so he could take up his seat on the twin sofa.

Alaric looked like he was about to start muttering about his dead CI again when Ragnor spoke. "Once again, am I the only one with sense in this room?"

Once again, everyone glared at him, with Cat looking she was visually picturing gutting him with the wine glass she was squeezing the life out of.

When he was met with silence, Ragnor clarified. "Simon, after you completed the job, you reached out to the client right?"

"So?" Alaric asked. "Clients tend to use burner phones to follow through on their given assignments. And they ditch them after the job is done."

"Yes. But our guild doesn't collect cash," Ragnor pointed out.

Alaric perked up at the realization, and everyone again turned to Simon who nodded. "Yeah. He did a wire transfer."

Magnus could feel the collective sigh of relief that went through the room. But then Simon continued speaking.

"But I don't think it will help. He used a Shell Corporation. And you know what that means." His eyes met Luke's. "Offshore accounts, and pseudo addresses."

Ragnor shrugged and flexed his fingers. "Leave that to me. I will get you the name. Easy."

Luke grinned and Alaric held both hands out and clasped them together.

Ragnor laughed and shook his head. "Just a simple thank you will do Alaric."

Alaric shook his head. "Do you think this is me thanking you? No. Luke will do that well enough for the both of us. This is me begging. Do any of you know anyone who's in with the Tsuris?"

Cat looked contemplative, as did Raphael. Clary and Simon shook their heads and Cat and Raphael joined in after a brief amount of time. Maia however… she winced, so briefly, he would have missed it if he hadn't been staring in her general direction. As it was, he noticed. And he also saw that Gretel noticed as well. He made a mental note to talk to Maia about it later.

Alaric meanwhile slumped back in his seat, looking defeated when nobody could give him an answer he could work with. The sight prompted Magnus to head back to the bar and he made Alaric his favourite: gin and tonic.

He poured them both over ice, and handed the cup over to Alaric who downed the entire contents in two large swallows, causing Luke to stare at him in concern. Luke looked like he was about to caution Alaric about slowing things down when Simon's phone pinged.

Simon glanced at the phone and shot to his feet, grabbing his bag and his phone, all the while muttering to himself. "Not again. Not again!" He'd clearly forgotten that they were in the loft, and he stepped over Raphael and Ragnor in his haste to get out.

After he'd left, they all turned to Clary who looked back at them, exasperated. "What? It's not like we're joined at the hip."

Nobody replied to that. Just kept staring until she finally sighed. "He has a paper due in two days, and he hasn't even started researching or writing the paper. He's probably headed to the library right now."

They all nodded.

"Yup. Sounds just like Simon all right," Maia said with a smile.

Gretel shook her head. "That boy is a mess."

"Of that we can both agree, Monroe," Raphael muttered.

"And here I thought the boy was finally going on a date," Cat muttered.

"Date?"

Cat nodded. "Yeah. He hasn't done that much dating since his last boyfriend—what was his name again? Quentin? Quade? Quincy?"

"Quinn," Maia supplied.

"Yes. Quinn. He hasn't dated at all since that creep of a boy broke his heart. If anyone deserves to find love again, it's definitely Simon," Cat said.

Raphael stared at her like she'd lost her mind. "Clearly, dating Dorothea has messed with your head," he said snidely.

Cat flipped him off.

"But really though Catarina," Magnus said. "Assassins don't fall in love. Especially not when they're still in our line of work. Too damn risky."

"Exactly," Maia said. "Look at Jocelyn and Luke." Luke startled, like he hadn't expected to be brought into the conversation and Maia winked at him. "They work so well together because Jocelyn walked away from it all, and decided to give herself a new life, living among more honest, non-killing folks. That's the only way they could get their happy ending."

"Agreed," Gretel said, and everyone nodded along with her.

"Clearly, Jocelyn is the strongest of us all." At the questioning looks she got, Cat clarified. "It must have taken a lot for her to walk away, and stay away. I am awed by her level of control."

Magnus shook his head. "I don’t think I will ever understand what madness would convince her, or anyone to believe it's a good idea to walk away from the life we live." He was sure he sounded incredulous, and he didn't care. "Assassins don't get to walk away. Our pasts will always come back to bite us in the ass and stab us in the back." He shrugged. "It's our way of life. And I don't think there's anything we can do to change the outcome. No matter how hard or how much we try to.

* * *

Jocelyn chanced a quick glance on the timer on her dashboard as she pulled up outside Clary's apartment block. Clary was nothing, if not a creature of habit, which meant she was most likely home that afternoon, hands deep in brewing her poisons.

Or she could be painting. It all depended on how stuck she was feeling.

Jocelyn nodded at one of the residents who held open the door for her to step through. "Thank you Jackie."

Jackie winked and walked out, hands filled with recyclable bags, mouth moving a mile a minute as she talked to someone using her headpiece.

The sight had Jocelyn chuckle as she took the steps—three at a time—until she pulled up in front of Clary's apartment. Three knocks later, she huffed as she pulled out the spare key Clary had handed over after one too many incidents of her not hearing Jocelyn's knocks on the door.

Jocelyn pushed the door open, eyes scanning the apartment, searching for Clary. The apartment was a vast open space, with few walls—a legacy of Clary buying two apartments and knocking down the separating walls so she could build herself a loft she could lose herself in.

And lose herself she did. Constantly. So much so that searching for Clary in her apartment, especially when she had her headphones on a study in adventure quest.

Thankfully enough, Jocelyn didn't have to look far. Just like she'd expected, Clary was in the sectioned off space she'd turned into a lab, a pungent smell permeated the air as she poured a red liquid into a test tube.

The mixture hissed, bubbling to the surface, as some of its content spilled over the table. But then it settled and calmed and Clary looked up with a smile.

"Mum," she said, as she leaned over to wash her hands in the sink. She grabbed a napkin and wiped her hands as she walked over until she was standing in front of Jocelyn, laughing as Jocelyn gave her a hug. "I didn't know you were coming over today." She gestured at her workstation. "I would have…" She trailed off with a laugh. "How's Dot?" She asked and motioned at Jocelyn to have a seat on one of the many stools in her improvised lab.

"Dot is good. She's making me so much money hiking up the prices of my paintings, I wonder why I didn't quit my job and paint full time, ages ago."

Clary tsked. "Because you loved training and teaching."

She was right about that. "How is Simon? How is school?" She eyed Clary carefully. "Hope you haven't killed any more teachers?"

Clary rolled her eyes. "You kill one person who clearly deserved it, and _nobody_ ever lets you forget it." She sighed. "And Simon is fine. He's catching up with an assignment, but then, when is never behind on his school work?"

Jocelyn snot-laughed. That was also true. If there was ever a deadline that Simon could meet, he would always make sure that he left it all till the last moment, before getting it done. What made it even more hilarious was the fact that when it came to carrying out a kill, no one was as punctual at hitting the client's deadline like Simon was. It just went to show that being an assassin was his calling, and not the sociology degree Elaine had prodded him into studying.

Not like Elaine had any idea that her son killed people for a living, and was very good at it. Plus, he had more money than generations of their family could ever hope to spend. Some things were better left unspoken.

"And your art? How's it coming along?"

Clary froze mid-reach for a beaker. "My art?" She repeated.

Jocelyn nodded. "Yes, your art. Can't I ask about it?"

Clary sniffed. "Yeah… You can. It's just…" She tilted her head and studied her suspiciously. "You only ask when you're trying to lead into…" She trailed off and sighed. "What do you want to ask me mum?"

Jocelyn opened her mouth, but Clary wagged her finger. "And don't try lying. I love you. And I know you. And I am sure you didn't come to catch up on small talk." She smiled, probably to take the sting out of her words. "You could have easily called for that."

Jocelyn sighed. There was no use keeping it back. "It's about Michael Altman. He's dead."

"Yes. How did you know?" Clary's slowly nodded, the suspicion not easing. If anything, it seemed to have increased. "Mum… I thought you said you've _walked_ away."

Jocelyn shrugged, hoping it gave her an air of mild curiosity. "And I have. I just… I heard Luke and Alaric talking about it and I was curious is all."

Clary scoffed. "Try again, mum."

"Okay, fine. I might have… taken a quick peek into the autopsy report just before they submitted it. His ammonia and zinc levels were a lot higher than normal." She met Clary's eyes. "I was curious. That's all."

Clary cocked her head and stared at her for a long moment, eyes scanning her face, probably looking for signs that she was lying to her. Jocelyn had to swallow a laugh. Clary was smart, way smarter than a lot of people gave her credit for. But the fact that Clary actually thought Jocelyn was going to give away her secrets and her thoughts was hilarious.

Finally, Clary nodded. "Yeah. He was… Simon's mark." She reached for the beaker and resumed mixing. "He got the request a week before the hit. The client asked if Simon had a poison that could make Mikey's death look like a heart attack. Something liquid, odorless, colourless, virtually impossible to detect; that would fall a full grown man in exactly twelve minutes." She nudged her chin in the direction of the shelves where she stocked the poisons she'd made. "That was when I remembered Dot's formula and made Simon one."

_Shit!_

"Why are you interested in how he died anyway?" Clary asked, sounding absentminded as she worked. Jocelyn gave her another five minutes, at which point she would be so far gone she would have zero idea that Jocelyn was still in the loft.

Not like Jocelyn minded. She'd gotten what she came here for anyway.

"Nothing really. Dot was just worried."

That brought Clary's head up.

"She was worried?"

Jocelyn nodded. "Yeah. She thought that maybe someone was copying her, putting her back on the NYPD's radar."

Clary shook her head and bit down on her lower lip as she carefully poured the red liquid she'd been mixing into the beaker, and set it to boil.

Jocelyn gagged at the stench: a mixture of rotting eggs and fish, and glared at Clary who chuckled. "The smell will be gone in a bit."

"So you say." She wrinkled her nose. "What does it do anyway? Besides knocking you on your ass when you get a whiff of it?"

Clary rolled her eyes, but then was up on her feet, vibrating in place as she explained her newest experiment with barely concealed glee. "It has the force to turn your innards into an instant mess of boiling soup." She grinned. "I call it Liquid Fire."

"Liquid Fire?"

"Yes. Seems fitting doesn't it?"

Jocelyn couldn't help it. She laughed, and laughed harder when Clary winked at her. Still laughing, she walked over to Clary, placed a soft kiss on her hair, mentally blamed Valentine for their daughter's blood lust and walked away, leaving her to her experiments.

Outside the loft, Jocelyn took the stairs, pulling out her phone to place a call to Dot. Dot picked up on the first ring. "Jocelyn."

"They asked for _your_ poison Dot."

"Mine like they specifically requested for it by name?"

"No. Yours like they wanted a liquid poison that could never be detected."

Dot sighed. Jocelyn couldn't see her but he was fairly sure she was rubbing her forehead the way she always did when she was close to her limit and was willing everything within her to remain calm.

"That still doesn't mean anything Jocelyn," she murmured.

"True," Jocelyn agreed. "But only yours works with a twelve minutes time frame, and the client specifically requested for a poison that kicks in after twelve minutes."

"You sound like Simon when he's trying to convince us that his new harebrained idea will work."

Jocelyn winced. Trust Dot to pull out the knives and not hold back.

"Simon? Really?

"Yeah. Really," Dot replied.

"Fine, what did _you_ learn?"

"Spoke to Cat when she got in last night. Apparently, Ragnor agreed to find out who Simon's client is. He's going to trace the wire."

"Nobody will be that careless," Jocelyn pointed.

Dot hummed, just as Jocelyn heard the door being opened, and the sound of Cat cheeringly greeting Dot filtered through the speakers, followed by kissing. Lots of it, if what she could hear was anything to go by.

Jocelyn smiled. "You know what, I'll stop by at Ragnor's. Find out what he knows so far and get back to you."

Dot made a laughing sound at something Cat said and Jocelyn took it as her clue.

She was still smiling when she pulled up in front of Ragnor's townhouse, half an hour later. But then Ragnor opened the door, with his lips pursed, one brow raised and his arms crossed and her smile dropped.

No other person wore their displeasure for the whole world to see like Ragnor did. Magnus might still smile at you, bidding his time until he could stick a knife in your back. But Ragnor, he was a viper, fangs instantly bared, ready to strike. No wonder he and Raphael got along splendidly.

"Jocelyn," Ragnor said, looking like he had half the mind to slam the door shut in her face. Thankfully he didn't. He waved her in, settling right back in front of the computer he'd set up in his living room, his workspace filled with several empty cups of coffee and a half empty tin of biscuits. He gestured to the coffeepot and the biscuit tin. "Help yourself."

She was half-tempted to turn him down, but something in his eyes had her reaching for the offered snacks. Half a cup of coffee later, she asked the one question that had had been burning up in her mind ever since she entered the townhouse. "Did I do something wrong?"

Ragnor let out an amused chuckle, although his eyes weren't laughing in the slightest. "You tell me. Did you do anything wrong?"

"I didn't come here to talk around in circles with you, Ragnor," she bit out, tampering down on the temper that she knew was moments away from spilling out. Cryptic wasn't what she'd signed up for when she'd volunteered to come find out what Ragnor knew.

"You didn't?" Ragnor asked, still looking amused. But then the amusement died, and he spoke with a hard edge. "Could have fooled me, especially considering you're here to ask about who it was that killed off Michael Altman."

She froze, her eyes darting to meet Ragnor who made no effort to hide his distrust. "You know?"

He nodded, fingers flying over the keyboard, long scripts running across the screen. "Of course. Everyone thinks you walked away, stepped out of the life and decided to live on the straight and narrow." He laughed, but this time around, the amusement made it to his eyes. "Delusional. The whole lot of them."

"You knew?" Her mind worked fast, trying to figure out when she might have given herself away and how long before Luke, Clary and the others found out.

Ragnor spun around on his seat, until he was staring at her. She could feel the cool air drifting in through the open windows, could hear the tick-tock of the massive grandfather clock that stood as a sentry beside the door. If she listened well enough, she was sure she could even hear her heartbeat.

Finally, Ragnor sighed and leaned back. "Your ex-husband was the head of a guild of assassins that dealt only with political assassinations. _You_ were his second-in-command. Until he crossed the line. Tossed an African country into a bloody civil war that has so far claimed hundreds of thousands of lives, and is still going strong with no end in sight."

The words brought back so many memories. Memories she'd worked hard to keep buried for so long. Unearthed and digging into old scabs she thought had healed until Ragnor dug into them and ripped them open. She would have hated him, if she didn't know that he would fight to the death to protect her and her family.

Also, he was right.

"But that wasn't enough for him. He actively started drawing up plans, kills he orchestrated that would toss peaceful countries into total chaos. The best way to move the amount of heavy artillery and weapons he'd amassed was to supply them to once peaceful countries, now bathed in blood. It wasn't what you wanted. You signed up for getting rid of despots and dictators, not destroying the very fabric of society."

Jocelyn felt cool fingers beneath her chin, urging her to look up into Ragnor's brown eyes. Strange. She hadn't even known when her eyes turned to the floor.

"And then you did the one thing that set you above us all. The bravest thing really." He smiled, softly, and Jocelyn found herself returning the smile. "You bailed. Killed Valentine. Took your daughter and ran."

She closed her eyes. She could still see it. The moment she'd confronted Valentine and he'd gleefully talked about unleashing anarchy on the world, and being the one in control. _The one with the weapons to destroy it all,_ he'd gleefully cackled. She hadn't known when she'd pulled out the gun, held it low so he wouldn't see her coming, and then pulled the trigger. The fire hadn't been part of the plan. If it had been, she would have grabbed Jonathan as well.

She shook off the thought. Refusing to go down that path. She'd lost her husband and her son in one afternoon. And although she would never mourn Valentine, she would always, always mourn her son.

"You've lost too much. Sacrificed too much to sit back calmly and let someone else continue Valentine's legacy. Of course you will want to keep an eye on things from the shadows." Ragnor's lips quirked to the side. "I am right, aren’t I?"

"Yes."

Ragnor let out a sharp bark of laughter, shaking his head as he cupped the side of his face with his open palm and stared at Jocelyn. His eyes hardened. "So why are you lying to everyone? To Luke? Clary? Are we all just idiots you've been using as pawns to further your agenda?"

"No, it's not—"

Ragnor scoffed. "Spare me. I know what you're going to say. You don't want to involve us. You don't want to put any of us in danger. You don't want to pull us into a fight that isn't ours."

He made a mockery of all her fears. The words pulling at her, tearing at her in every which way, digging in into her vital parts, proving that he was as adept with cutting down with words as he was with a knife.

"You infantilize us all. Take away our chance to make a conscious decision to help or _not_ help. You call us friends—"

Now it was her turn to scoff. "Come on Ragnor. We're not _friends_. I have ten years on you and Magnus. Also, I don't have that history with you all. I'm only a member of the group by extension. Because Clary's my daughter, because I'm married to Luke, because Dot is my best friend. It doesn't mean we're fri—"

Ragnor's eyes blazed. "Finish that thought. I dare you." He sniffed. "Putting up with you because of Clary, Luke and Dot _indeed_. Like any of us hung out with Camille when Magnus was dating her cheating, manipulative, psychotic, lying ass."

"But—"

"There is no but in this," Ragnor hissed. "You might not think of us as friends, but we see you as a friend. And yet, you treat us like strangers. Hiding the truth. Hiding what you know about who the enemy is. Leaving us disadvantaged instead of us working together and strategizing about the best way to take them down. Because you and I know," he leaned forward, bracing both hands on the armrest of his couch, "that whatever this is, it will eventually rain down on us all." He sneered. "You must be really blind if you think that we won't be caught in whatever whirlwind mess has been sweeping through the guilds in the last few months."

Jocelyn's eyes widened and her breath whooshed out. "You know?"

Ragnor stared back at her like she was missing a couple of marbles. "Entire guilds are getting wiped out Jocelyn. Of course I know, and I'm sure they will soon figure it out as well. But we would have wasted precious time because you just wouldn't share it. So fixated on letting everyone else think that you've changed and walked away."

"I'm sorry," she murmured.

Ragnor nodded and reached for a pen. He tore out a post it note, scribbled something on it, and then passed her the note. She looked down at it, at the name and number written on it. _Jeremy Pontmercy._

"That's who I traced the wire transfer to. Name doesn't ring any bells, so I will keep digging. I am sure I will be able to find the connection."

She held the post-it between her index and middle finger, "Thank you Ragnor."

He nodded and she walked around his workstation and headed to the door. Just as she pulled it open, his voice stopped her. "If you're truly sorry, tell them the truth. All of it." She turned around and met his eyes. "Or I will tell them myself."

She nodded, turned around and left.

* * *

"Silence in the library!"

The hissed words brought everyone's attention to the head librarian and to Simon who she was shushing.

Simon looked up from his prone position on the floor, where he'd fallen after falling asleep mid-studying. An assortment of textbooks and notebooks were all around him. Obviously, they'd made the fall with him, which probably explained why the librarian was looking at him like she was considering filleting him and hanging him out to dry.

He held both hands up in a silent apology until she huffed and turned away. Breathing a sigh of relief he turned back to gather his books, pausing when his phone beeped.

_Dinner. 8. Do not be late, Simon._

Rebecca was back at it again. How the hell she believed he needed to be reminded a million and one times about making it to dinner, he would never know. That's what he got for forgetting about _one_ dinner with the family. Just one. He rolled his eyes and made to put the phone in his back pocket when it beeped again. This one, was from his mother.

_I'm setting a plate for you at 8. Make sure you're there._

He sighed. Especially because seconds after her message, his bubbie Helen's message came in.

_It's been too long Simon. See you at dinner tonight._

Keeping his fingers crossed that that would be the last set of messages he was going to be getting from his family, he reached upwards, dropped his phone on the desk, and then went back to gathering his books. Until his hands bumped into someone else's.

"I'm sor—"

He looked up into Jace's smiling face, and found himself instinctively returning it.

"Hey," Jace murmured.

Simon licked his lip. "Hey."

"You know, when you told me you were busy with an assignment for school, I thought you were just looking for a way to get rid of me." He rose; hands filled with the remaining books Simon hadn't been able to get to and he carefully placed them on the desk.

"I wish," Simon sighed as he gestured at all the texts. "I've been postponing this for weeks. But it's due tomorrow and Professor Marks will have my head if I don't mail it to him before then." He looked up from his notes, hoping that Jace could read the regret in his eyes. "I'm sorry I had to cancel."

Jace shrugged out of his leather jacket, hung it over the next available chair and dragged it over to the table. The sound that ensued had Simon wincing. So much so that he wasn't even surprised when the head librarian stomped over to their table, glaring daggers at them. At least until Jace smiled sheepishly at her and mumbled an apology. She visibly swooned, mumbling something about there being no need for any apologies and Jace should make himself comfortable. Then she walked away, leaving Simon staring after her aghast.

He turned around to gape at Jace.

"What?"

Simon pointed back at the librarian. "She has never smiled at me like that before."

"Really?"

"And she most certainly hasn't ever told me that I don't need to apologize. If anything… He sent a glare in her direction. "She lives for me apologizing."

Jace chuckled, and picked up Simon's notes.

"I really am sorry about this," Simon said, gesturing at the library. "When I said we should go on a date, this… wasn't really what I had in mind."

Jace smirked and leaned forward, bracing both hands on the table as he stared up at Simon from under his lashes. "What did you have planned?"

Fuck!

Well, two can play this game.

Simon grinned back, rose and walked around the desk until he was standing right in front of Jace, their bodies a millimeter apart. He reached behind Jace for a book on the shelf and whispered against Jace's ear, taking special care to brush his lips against the lobe, feeling that hum of satisfaction when Jace shivered. "I was thinking, dinner, then a movie. There's an old film house down the corner. They only show classic eighties sci-fi. I was thinking back to the future, followed by Terminator. That would put us at about three to four am." He pulled back slightly, and now it was his turn to look up at Jace from underneath _his_ lashes. "Then we would have followed it up with an early morning stroll in the park." He stopped, the hum turning into a thrill when Jace visibly swallowed.

"And then?"

"Then I would have walked you to your cab—" He trailed off and cocked his head. "Or do you have a car?"

Jace shook his head. "It's currently at the shop. So cabs for the next couple of weeks."

Simon nodded and continued. "I would have walked you to your cab." He leaned forward, until their breaths tangled, and he could almost hear every inhale and exhale Jace made. "And kissed you goodnight." He smirked. "Or rather, good morning."

Jace leaned forward, eyes fixated on Simon's lips. Simon stepped back, smiling as Jace glowered. He waved his textbook in Jace's face. "Unfortunately, I've got studying and writing to do, so no date night tonight."

Jace shook his head and sighed. "There's no problem with that." His eyes scanned the desk. "How can I help?"

Simon released a happy cry, unaware that he had done so, until some of the other students in the library, leveled glares his way. He mouthed his sorrys, pulled down more books from the shelves and plopped them in front of Jace. "I'm writing about the role the digital age plays in making my life as a practicing Jew in the United States easier and harder by degrees, so anything that would help with that. Studies, essays, research that has been carried out. Hell, it might be research done with regards to another religion, whatever might be helpful, I need it."

Jace hummed, grabbed one of the many notebooks that littered the table, and got to work. Simon stared across the table at him, his lips pulling into a smile at how focused Jace looked, scribbling out notes, his lips pursed, his forehead scrunched in thought as his eyes ran down the pages of the book he was skimming through.

The sight made him feel warm.

Later that night, as they left the library, Simon raised both hands, clasped his fingers together and stretched, feeling satisfaction as he felt the tightness in his shoulders release with a loud pop.

He grinned in relief, resisting the urge to burst into a happy laugh. After his reminder had gone off two days ago, in Magnus' loft, he'd just about lost his mind. His agreed deadline with Professor Mark drew closer, he hadn't written as much as a word hadn't even done his research. And he was sure that the good professor would have lost his mind if he had asked for an extension for the millionth time.

But now, here he was. Research done. Paper written. Paper sent. Oh, fuck it, who cared if he laughed. He released a low giggle, and smiled even wider when that pulled Jace's eyes to him. He winked, and felt a rush of satisfaction when that made Jace chuckle.

His phone dinged and Simon pulled it out of his pocket and glanced at it, he could guess at who it was that was texting him. Sure enough, it was a message from Professor Marks. Short, and concise.

_Received._

Simon grinned. He was sure there were so many more things that the good professor wanted to say but didn't. The least of which was probably the man giving thanks to a higher power that Simon had finally sent in his long overdue paper.

His phone dinged again. And again.

_Mum said to remind you about dinner. Damn it Simon. Text her back already so she doesn't keep making me do this._

He scoffed. Like he would choose to make anything easier for Rebecca.

He looked up to catch Jace's questioning look and shrugged. "It's probably my family. Mum made a big family dinner and they've been texting me all day to remind me to come over."

Jace nodded. "I get it. I haven't eaten a home cooked meal in forever." Now it was his turn to shrug. "Family dinners aren't really our thing."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I live with my brother and our baby sister. Neither of us cooks, so we always order takeout." He gave a low smile; something flickered in his eyes, too quick for Simon to catch. "We only get the family dinner when our… mum is in town. And she hasn't been around in years."

His expression shifted again. Turned sad, and just a bit wistful, and Simon found himself offering Jace comfort in the only way he knew how. He reached out, placing his hand against Jace's cheek.

Jace closed his eyes, and then opened them. His blue brown eyes deepening as he licked his lips. His eyes drifted down to Simon's lips and he leaned forward. Simon found himself leaning forward as well, his eyes drifting close as he waited for their lips to touch…

Only for his phone to beep. "Fucking hell!"

Jace laughed at the sworn expletive and Simon rolled his eyes, and then glanced at the newly received text.

_I swear Simon, if you don't make it home tonight, I will have your head._

And then she ended it with a _love mum_ and a kissy smiley face.

Simon shook his head and sighed. His family was weird.

He felt warm air brush against his neck for a brief second, before Jace burst out into loud uncontrolled guffaws. Simon spun around to look at him. Jace was practically doubled over, laughing his ass off. The sight had his lips twitching and he had to suppress the laughter that threatened to burst out. Of course, Jace had looked at his mother's text. He would have taken a peek as well, if he'd been in that position.

On a whim, he asked. "Want to come over for dinner?"

That stopped Jace mid-laugh and he cocked his head. A half smiling, half confused expression on his face.

Damn. That was too forward wasn't it? When would he ever learn that he couldn't just go about inviting men he'd only just met to come meet his family. Now Jace was probably wondering why he was moving so fast. Like come on. Only desperate dumbasses invited men they'd not even gone on one date with, to meet the family.

Simon opened his mouth to laugh it off as a joke when Jace shrugged. "Who am I to say no to a home cooked meal?"

The knot in his belly unfurled and Simon smiled. "Trust me, you wouldn't regret it. Mum makes a mean Rugelakh, and my bubbie Helen makes a Borscht to die for."

As Simon sat across the rest of his family at the dinner table, the rest of his family that were at the moment half fawning all over Jace who had brought out all the charms and the smiles, and what the fuck, how the hell didn't he know Jace Herondale had dimples? And the other half—namely Rebecca—glared at Jace like she was imagining stabbing him multiple times and then dropping his carcass in the middle of the ocean, Simon desperately wished someone would put a bullet in his head and put him out of his misery.

As Jace finished a childish anecdote about when he and his brother had gone rock climbing, unaware that their baby sister had followed them, only for her to get stuck on one of the heights and then refuse to come down, a situation that led to their mother grounding them for months, his mum and his bubbie Helen burst into laughter. Rebecca however rolled her eyes so hard, Simon was surprised that they still remained in their sockets.

He reached beneath the table and kicked at her foot. Hard.

Rebecca looked away from glaring at Jace to glaring at him.

 _What?_ She mouthed.

"Back off," he hissed, drawing the eyes of everyone else at the table to them, although he didn't really notice.

Rebecca looked at him like he'd lost his damn mind. "Dude, I'm your big sister."

Simon rolled his eyes. Tell him something he _didn't_ know. Rebecca made sure she reminded him of her big sister status every chance she got.

"I have every right to screen your boyfriend."

_Wait what? Boyfriend? Who said anything about a boyfriend?_

Just as he made to clarify, Rebecca barreled on. "Especially considering the fact that he," she pointed at Jace who stared at the both of them like he'd got prime seats at the movie and didn't want to miss a bit of the action, "is the first boyfriend you've ever brought home."

Simon studiously avoided looking at Jace, all the while willing the floor to open up and swallow his sister whole.

Unfortunately, that didn't happen. Even worse, his mother added to his embarrassment as she turned to address Jace.

"We actually thought he was asexual or aromatic."

What the? Why was his mother acting like he wasn't sitting right _there_ with them, privy to every embarrassing word they were sharing with his… boyfriend? Date? Guy he just met and really liked? Of course his family wanted to screw this up for him.

"But then, he mentioned a boyfriend, and then Rebecca accidentally walked in on him telling Clary about his 'plans' that night, and we realize he was neither ace nor aro." She slid him a glance, the mischief dancing in her eyes proof that she knew exactly what she was doing and wanted him to suffer for always keeping his private life, private. "Hell, he wasn't even demi. He just liked keeping his relationships separate from his family." She smirked at him, and then turned to Jace, her voice going from smug to apologetic. "I'm sorry if we're grilling you way too much for details about yourself. It's just, like Rebecca said, you're the first person he's ever brought home."

"What is Clary? Chopped liver?" Simon asked petulantly as he crossed his arms.

They ignored him. Jace shrugged as he addressed Elaine. "I get it. Plus, I am sure if I were to bring Simon to meet _my_ family as well," his eyes slid over to Simon and he winked, then turned back to address Elaine, "they would have just as much questions to ask." He smiled. "It's how families show love. They meddle, and they ask a lot of questions, but it's only because they want the best for you."

Elaine and bubbie Helen all smiled and nodded in agreement. Rebecca though, continued to stare suspiciously at Jace and Simon kicked her under the table again.

She looked about ready to light into him when his phone rang. He glanced down at it. _Clary._

"Sorry, I have to take this," he said as he excused himself from the table. He walked out of the living room, out through the door, until he was outside the house. Then, he picked up the call. "Hi, Fray."

"Simon," Clary said. He could just imagine her flopping onto her couch, legs hanging over the edge of it, with a smile on her face. "How did the studying go?"

"Fine, fine. Nice of you to ask now though," he said, a bit snidely.

Clary chuckled. "I wanted to call. But I figured you needed the peace and quiet to get the work done, so I resisted calling." Her voice dropped and she whined. "Do you know how hard it was to _not_ call?"

Simon chuckled. "I am sure it was," he conceded. "But I was able to send my paper in, just in time, so thank you for the restraint."

"Seriously?" Her voice perked up, and he could just picture her sitting up. "I knew you were determined to pull it off but I wasn't sure you actually would. How did you make it in time?"

He felt his cheeks heat up and he toed at a stone lodged deep in the dirt.

"Simon," Clary singsonged.

Simon sighed. "I had a little bit of help," he admitted. "From Jace."

"Jace?

"Jace Herondale."

Clary squealed. "Hold up. The blond haired god from the bookshop?"

Simon nodded. Then remembered that Clary couldn't see him. "Yeah. I asked him out on a date."

"Nice."

"Thank you. But, I couldn't make it because of the paper. So he met me at the library, and volunteered to help me get it done. And when we finished, I invited him over to dinner at the house."

"Hold up. House? As in _your_ house?"

"Yeah."

"So, he's met with the family?"

"Yeah. And they love him. Except Rebecca."

"Yeah well, she's always been protective of you, There is nothing wrong with that," Clary pointed out. "But dinner with the family though. That’s some serious shit."

Simon walked over to the swing set his dad had built for him and Rebecca before he'd died. He sat down, the sounds of clanging chains lulling him into calm. "Tell me about it."

"You've never introduced any of the boys you've dated to your family," Clary said.

"So everyone has made sure to tell me," Simon muttered. "And Jace as well."

"Well, can you blame them?" Clary asked.

Simon shook his head. "Nah. But you know why." Clary made a sound that Simon took as her acquiescing to that point. "Everyone I've dated so far, have all been a part of our world. And I would do everything to make sure neither mum nor Rebecca nor bubbie Helen ever have to get involved with what we do. Hell, I don't want them to even catch a hint of it. They've already been more involved than I want them to anyway."

Clary hummed. He heard a slurping sound and smiled. She was probably gulping down on a bottle of wine as she listened to him talk. Some things never changed.

"And then, here comes this guy who is funny, and smart and gorgeous and who clearly likes my family, and they like him back." He thought about Rebecca. "Well, almost all of them." Clary snorted and Simon chuckled. "He's the real deal Clary. And then, like icing on the cake, he's a regular guy, with nothing connecting him to our way. He's perfect."

"Yeah, but it doesn't mean your two separate lives wouldn't collide at some point, Simon. No matter how hard you try to keep them apart, it will still happen."

She'd been saying that for quite a while now. "Maybe. But so far, they haven't collided yet, and that works for me. I will just keep holding them apart for as long as I can. Plus, as long as Jace isn't involved in the second part, I'm good." He stared into the distance, was silent for a moment before he murmured. "Or are you going to fault me for wanting just a little bit of normalcy."

Clary immediately objected. "Of course not!"

Simon smiled.

"Well, okay then. I'll leave you to get back to your part dinner with your family, part date." She laughed. "Gods, you know this is all confusing, right?"

Simon stuck out his tongue at her. He knew she couldn't see him, but he didn't care. Plus, he was sure she probably knew that that was what he was doing anyway. He pushed with his feet, and the swing started creaking as it moved him. "Go find yourself a girlfriend, Fray."

"Who said I don't have one?"

Simon skidded to a stop. "What?! Who is it?"

He could just picture her grin as she laughingly replied. "Not telling you."

"Fray—"

"But I can tell you, it's someone you know. Someone you know… very well."

"Oh no you don't, Fray. You _cannot_ leave me hanging like that. I demand to know—"

All he heard was a tone. Fucking Clary Fray had hung up on him. He rolled his eyes. Like her hanging up could ever keep him from finding out everything she was trying to hide.

Just as he made up his mind to start calling everyone he knew to find out who Clary's new girlfriend was, he heard the screen door swing open. He turned around on the swing and caught sight of Jace walking out of the house to come meet him.

Jace took up his seat on the swing beside his and they swung for some minutes, the only thing to break the silence was the creaking sounds.

Simon made a mental note to oil them, the next morning.

"Thank you for dinner," he heard Jace say.

"I should be the one thanking you," Simon replied. When Jace raised a questioning brow, he clarified. "For putting up with my family and their inane questions."

Jace chuckled. "It's all good. Plus," his eyes drifted over to meet Simon's eyes. "I really do like your family. Even Rebecca." Simon snorted, and Jace grinned, but continued speaking. "I'm just keeping my fingers crossed that she eventually warms up to me."

Simon scoffed. "I wouldn't hold my breath if I were you. Rebecca can be quite tenacious if she decides she doesn't like you."

Jace shrugged. "And I can be quite tenacious with winning people over." He followed the cocky words with a knowing smirk and Simon laughed.

"Is that so?"

"Of course. Look at you for example. You started today believing that we wouldn't have our date. And now look at us," he gestured at the both of them, at the swings, at the full moon, the silence that surrounded them. "Looks like a date to me."

Simon nodded. The man had a point.

They sat in silence for a long while, moving back and forth on the swing, comfortable in the silence and in each other's presence, until the sound of a car pulling up broke it. Simon glanced at Jace.

"I called a cab."

Simon glanced down at his watch. Damn, it was past one in the morning already. The day really had flown by. He looked up from his watch and caught Jace's eye.

Jace smiled. "Thank your family for having me at dinner." He skidded the swing to a halt, rose, and brace himself on Simon's swing till it came to a halt. "Thank you for an amazing first date." He winked at Simon, brushed his fingers over Simon's lips and ambled over to the cab with the swagger of a man who knew he'd successfully turned Simon's brain to mush.

_Fuck that._

Simon rose from the swing and strode after Jace, picking up pace so he caught Jace just before Jace could pull open the door. He spun him around, leaned forward and up and met his lips with his.

He felt Jace startle for a moment, but then he moaned, wrapped one arm around Simon's waist and the other around his neck and held him in place as they kissed. Slowly, lazily. Simon tasting the mixture of sour cream, pastry and chocolate that was Elaine's Rugelakh. They finally broke apart, Simon taking a quick moment to bite down on Jace's lower lip and then pulling apart. Satisfaction poured through him like warm whiskey at the way Jace's eyes flared.

He turned around and walked back to the house. The smile remained on his face for the rest of the meal, and followed him till he went to bed.

* * *

"Go Gretel!"

The shout had Maia turning briefly from making her customer a mimosa to laughing at the sight of Gretel who was currently on the mechanical bull, belting her heart out to Celine Dion's _My Heart Will Go On._ She was singing in that off-key tune she reverted to every time she'd drunk way more than she'd planned to, and hiccupped her way through the song.

Then Gretel caught her eyes and shouted from her corner of the room, forehead scrunched up in thought, her eyes holding that confused glaze. She waved at Maia to get her attention, and then pointed at the bull. "It isn't moving."

Maia laughed and shook her head. "That's because you haven't switched it on, genius."

Gretel's mouth formed a silentmoue and she blinked owlishly at the bull. Even before she asked, Maia knew what her best friend was about to say. "How do I turn it on?"

She caught the attention of one of the bouncers: Taito, a big burly man with the body of a giant and the soul of a peace-loving monk. He was also Gretel's godfather, and his lips twitched like Maia had. Gretel might be one of the most deadly assassins in the city, but she couldn't hold her liquor for shit. Worse still, she didn't care. Friday night always found her at the Hunter's Moon, drunk off her ass and having a blast.

And whatever idiot thought he could take advantage of her, usually found themselves with a couple of broken ribs and broken fingers, courtesy Gretel, Maia and Taito.

Maia turned around, gave her customer an apologetic smile and finished building the mimosa. When it was ready, she passed it over to the customer who handed her quite the tip, considering it took her a while to make him his cocktail. She smiled her thanks and turned to serve a college student her order of a pina colada, when she heard Gretel's breezy attempt at Mario's _You Should Let Me Love You._ Maia laughed and went back to pouring drinks.

When she'd moved to NYC, she'd left so much behind, her old life something she could never return to. Coming to the city had been a chance to rebuild her life, regain all she'd lost, everything she'd never allowed herself to have. She'd set out in the city firm in the belief that she wasn't going to make any new friends, nor was she going to have anyone in her life that she would be invested in.

If life had taught her anything, it was that having someone in your life was a recipe for you setting yourself up for a world of hurt and heartbreak.

But then, Gretel and then Magnus and then Luke had walked into her life and changed that. They'd brought with them, their families and their friends and she found herself in a community, surrounded by people who loved her and who would kill for her, and she would do the same for them in return.

The door to the Hunter's Moon jingled open and Maia stopped mid-pour to stare. Speaking of someone she would willingly kill for, Isabelle Lightwood stepped into the bar, and Maia forgot how to breathe. Black hair spilling around her shoulders in waves, a bold red bodycon dress that stopped mid-thigh and accentuated that bombshell figure. Her eyes dark, her lips wet and red. She looked like a dream. Like some angelic being set out to tempt her and push her to forget every single rule she'd given herself, to stay away and keep herself and her heart protected.

Isabelle Lightwood had heartbreaker written all over her. And she knew it too as she walked over to the bar, throwing smiles and winks, laughing as the way parted before her like she had a divine staff and she was parting the red sea.

And then finally she was sliding onto the stool in front of Maia, head tilted slightly to the side as she smiled. "Hi Maia."

Gods, her voice.

"Isabelle," Maia murmured back. Her voice caught and Izzy caught that knowing look in her eyes. Maia cleared her throat and tried again. "Cocktail or straight."

Izzy leaned forward and her smile widened. "Let's make it cocktail tonight."

"Your usual?"

Izzy nodded. "A tall glass of frozen sangria margarita." She reached out, just as Maia turned around to make her the cocktail, fingers wrapping around Maia's wrist to stop her in her tracks. Maia looked down at the hand, and then at Izzy whose tongue flicked out to lick her lips and then she jerked her head at the bottle of tequila. "Make it three shots, instead of two." She sighed. "Heavens knows I need it."

"Why? What happened?" Maia asked as she bent low and grabbed the separate pitchers of sangria and margarita that she'd blended the minute her shift started, and then kept in the fridge.

_You know, for someone who claims to want her distance and doesn't want to get involved in a relationship, you sure do look forward to seeing Isabelle Lightwood regularly._

She pushed back the thought as she placed the pitchers on the bar and started building the cocktail, humming and nodding as Izzy told her all about her day, totally oblivious to her effortless dance between English and Spanish as she ranted about her brothers, and just how dense they could be. The words made her smile, because as much as Izzy complained about her big brothers, her love still showed. Although it was always interlaced with frustration. But every time she talked about her baby brother—Max, Izzy had called him—it was all love.

She then brought up her work and Maia continue to nod, mind working fast as she poured another customer a negroni. She'd heard about Elise Singer. You'd have to be living under a rock not to know the multibillion dollar tycoon and her sudden passing almost a week prior. And you'd have to be a useless assassin not to know that contrary to what was being said on the news, Elise Singer hadn't suffered from a heart attack, she'd been poisoned. Which made things so much more interesting.

One, because the woman had been the stereotypical power obsessed, who believed everyone was out to kill her heiress, and so always walked around with a veritable militia to protect her. And yet, someone _had_ gotten to her. And if Maia was to make a guess, she was about ninety-nine-point-nine percent sure that it was one of the Lightwood siblings that did it. Her money was on Izzy though. Based on what had filtered to her, what with Magnus' interest in the eldest Lightwood sibling, Maia had her suspicions that the Singer death was more her MO. Alec Lightwood wasn't that subtle, and the middle Lightwood sibling, whose name nobody had been able to get because he changed it frequently, although there were whispers that he was called Jonathan Lightwood, also had an MO for being quite showy. Which meant, it was most likely Izzy. And Quite the impressive feat it was.

Two, her death had left a vacuum in her affairs and in the Ból syndicate which she had been in charge of since her father died. Of course, no one knew that the same woman who represented the one percent that owned the world's global economy, was also the face of NYC's seedy underbelly, and was the head of a group that worked way too closely with the Circle. Speaking of the Circle, between the Tsuris losing Michael, and Ból losing Elise, she was sure the remnants of the Circle must be chomping on their bits, curious as to who had it out for them.

Maia was also curious about the answer to that question. She wondered if maybe it was—

She jerked out of her thoughts when she felt warm, strangely calloused fingers brush against her cheeks, in a slow stroke. She took in a deep breath, trying to ignore the delicious tingles that danced across her spine with every stroke of Izzy's knowing fingers.

Finally, she looked up from the shaker in her hand to Izzy who leaned forward with a grin. "Finally. I've been trying to get your attention since like forever," she tsked. "Clearly, your mind is far away."

Maia hummed. "Yeah. Between working here, and helping out an old friend who has me running errands for him, and then going to school…" She trailed off as Izzy's eyes widened. Maia smirked. "What? Are you against bartenders getting their Masters' degrees?"

Izzy smiled. "You're amazing," she breathed, wonder and adoration soaking every syllable, causing Maia's heart to clench as Izzy's expression went from lustful; to awed. "I can't believe you're doing all of that at the same time. Working two jobs and still going to school."

Maia froze, mind working fast as she wondered how she'd given herself away. When did Izzy find out about—?

"Or is your errand running for your friend not really a full-time gig?"

The whiff of relief caught her out of left field, causing her to drop the shaker for a brief moment as she braced her hands on the bar. Gods that had been so close. She'd wondered if maybe Izzy had learned about her work as an assassin.

Maia shrugged in response. "What can I say? I'm wonder woman." She gave a smug grin, and released a soft 'oof' when Izzy leaned over, pulled her forward and kissed her.

Gods she tasted as good as she looked. Sweet and smooth, and slick with that hint of playfulness as her tongue danced, slid against Maia's and then danced away. Maia bit back her curse, tasted the smugness of Izzy's smile against her lips and curled her hands in Izzy's hair. It was her turn to hold on tight, as she sank in, fingers brushing against Izzy's neck, feeling hot satisfaction as Izzy shivered against her, drinking down her moans, welcoming the whimpers, turning them into groans.

She finally pulled back and broke the kiss, leaned forward to catch another quick taste of orange and lime and wine and Isabelle.

Distantly, she heard the sound of patrons cheering and rolled her eyes. Idiots who believe that they were kissing as some sort of entertainment for them. But then, one of them called out, "How about I take you both home. Show you a good time."

They broke the kiss, and turned as one to glare at him. "Go fuck yourself."

The guy sneered, rolled his eyes and stepped towards them. But then Taito got in the guy's way, crossed his arms and glared down. "The ladies advised that you go fuck yourself. So, get gone."

The guy looked like he was debating talking back. But he glanced up at Taito, reconsidered with a shake of his head and walked away and out of the bar.

Maia smiled and turned her attention back to Izzy who was staring at her with a dazed expression in her eyes as she licked her lips. Maia smirked. She reached out to tuck an errand strand behind Izzy's ear, her smirk growing into a wide grin when Izzy released an involuntary shiver.

Maia licked her lips. "Well, that was unexpected." Izzy got enough of her composure back to raise a brow and Maia laughed. "I mean, I didn't think our first kiss was going to be at the bar at Hunter's Moon."

Izzy beamed. "I've been wanting to do that for so long."

Maia smiled right back. "Me to."

They leaned in for another kiss when a stringent voice cut through. "Maia!"

Maia turned around to glare at Ria—another bartender—who didn't look remotely sorry that she'd interrupted their kiss. "What?

"You need to move your car. You're locking someone in."

Maia nodded. Just as she reached beneath the bar for her car keys, Izzy gasped. "That reminds me," Izzy said and then dug in her bag until she pulled out a sheet of paper. "Someone left you this beneath my wipers. Probably thought my car was yours."

Maia laughed. "This is what we get for driving practically identical cars."

Izzy nodded. "Yup. The only thing that tells them apart is the wolf plushie at the backseat of yours."

"What can I say? I love wolves," Maia said with a laugh, and rolled her eyes when one of her customers did a sign of the cross. She poured the older man a Bloody Mary and watched him walk away, then turned back to look at Izzy who was staring back at her like she was the only person in the room.

_Gods. She could live for this. The company of a gorgeous woman. Lots of laughter. Friends that had her back. A job she loved. A life she'd crafted all on her own. Free of the shackles of her past._

"Isabelle," she said softly, biting back a laugh when Izzy shook herself like her mind had wandered off in a daydream. "You said you had a letter for me," she reminded her.

"Ha, yeah," Izzy said and handed over the letter.

Maia accepted it with a smile, glanced down, and her smile vanished. She could feel her breath coming out shorter by the minute. Her hands started to shake. She recognized that handwriting, recognized the postage stamp, recognized the darkness that swarm in the corner of her eyes.

She needed to breathe. But she couldn't pull in any breath into her lungs. But then Izzy hit her in-between her shoulder blades and she took in a deep gulp of breath, feeling the air rush through her lungs.

Distantly, she heard Izzy's concerned voice, and tried waving her worries away. What was there to say anyway?

Jordan was coming for her.

* * *

"You know, after I finally placed that call, and you invited me over for our date, I'd thought, maybe, I don't know, a bar, a shooting range, maybe we would go play some pool."

Magnus grinned. "Go on."

"And then you'd said we were going to do something crazy, and I thought, ooh, skydiving! But grocery shopping?" Alec wrinkled his nose, and Magnus laughed. Then laughed harder when Alec joined him. Magnus reached for a fresh tomato, sniffed it, weighed it in his hands and then grabbed a couple and added it to his basket.

Alec tsked. "Definitely not what I'd been expecting."

Magnus reached around him for a cantaloupe and added it to his basket, taking a moment to stared at Alec, with his tousled hair, charming grin, and laughed when Alec's eyes closed in bliss as he bit into one of the strawberries from the basket.

Magnus snorted.

"Seriously," Alec insisted. He waved his hands vaguely. "I can't even remember the last time me or my siblings actually went grocery shopping. Our go-to has always been to order in." He grinned and shrugged. "Kind of expected, considering none of us can cook."

One of the farmers handed him a basket of mushrooms. He accepted them with a nod and a thank you, paid for them, and they continued their stroll through the farmer's market, picking up their conversation from where they'd left off. "I don't believe you though." When Alec looked questioningly at him, he added. "Everyone can cook. Even if it's just _one_ meal."

"Obviously, you've never met my baby sister," Alec replied drily.

Magnus chuckled as he added the last bit of meat, fruits and vegetables to his basket. "I actually did consider us heading to a bar. My friend is a bartender at Hunter's Moon and it is quite the treat. Or, we could have gone to Del Posto, to have an actual date, without that whole Giovanni Ricci business in our face." Alec shrugged his shoulders; his expression confirming that he believed that would have been a much better idea. "But as much as I love to eat out, I also love to cook."

He heard a muffled sound and turned around to find Alec, sniffing at some peaches.

Magnus laughed, collected the fruit and added them to his basket. "Plus, my best friend's adopted daughter is coming over in a couple of days and Madzie can be quite picky about what she eats." He added some beetroot to the basket, talks of Madzie reminding him that he'd planned to make her an unusual desert when she came over.

"Madize?" Alec asked. "Pretty name."

Magnus nodded. "For a pretty girl."

Finally, he was done with his shopping, tallied up the final set of payments and started to haggle his way to a fair price. He felt warm eyes on him throughout, but refused to turn around, until he and the sellers had agreed on a price that suited them both, and then, whilst they set out bagging everything he'd bought, he finally turned around to meet the bemused expression on Alec's face.

"What is it?"

Alec shook his head. "Nothing. I just… I never thought I'd see the day."

Magnus raised a brow.

"The day I'd see _the Highwarlock of Brooklyn_ grocery shopping."

Hearing the title he'd adopted back when he'd first started out as an assassin; a title he had eventually dropped for favour of his name, seeing that everyone knew his identity, so why bother hiding it, he cringed. "I haven't heard anyone call me that in, forever."

Alec winked and Magnus laughed. "Either way, consider this your chance to see beyond the legend to the man beneath it all, Alexander."

Alec looked contemplative for a moment, and Magnus held back the words. The one thing he'd always had to deal with were the other assassins who had only heard about his kills and his rise through the underworld. That had been the myth that they wanted, the myth they'd wanted to fuck. They knew nothing about who he was as a person. Didn't even care to know. He'd hoped Alec Lightwood, was different, but if all he wanted was a—.

"I love forward to it," Alec murmured, breaking Magnus' train of thought.

Good. Very good. Magnus stepped forward and dropped his voice low, so Alec had to strain to hear him. "You would also get to meet the Magnus Bane who makes the most delicious meat and mushroom lasagna you've ever tasted."

Alec looked doubtfully at him. "Is that so?"

"Yes."

Two hours later, they were back at the loft, and Magnus was stirring in the ground beef into the sauce. When it had crumbled well enough, he reduced the flame slightly, and began chopping more tomatoes. Magnus could feel Alec's eyes watching him as he added the chopped tomatoes, and stirred. He scooped some of the sauce, turned around till he was staring right at Alec and took a sip. Tomato, oregano, basil, pepper, fennel, mushrooms, onions, garlic and minced meat burst on his tongue, flooding his senses, and he moaned.

His eyes flicked up to Alec whose eyes alternated between the spoon Magnus still held and Magnus' lips. Magnus cocked his hips, and held out the spatula.

Alec scoffed. "I am sure it doesn't taste _that_ good."

"Try it."

Alec stalked over, long strides quickly eating up the distance until he was standing right in front of Magnus. Magnus held out the spoon, Alec leaned forward, mouth opening wide, giving Magnus a brief glimpse of a pink tongue, before his lips closed over the spoon. He pulled away, slowly chewed, swallowed, and followed it with a moan.

Partially opened hazel eyes stared back at Magnus through hooded lids, and Magnus found himself asking. "Do you like it?" Fuck. When had his voice turned that gravely? He cleared his throat and tried again. "How does it taste."

Alec slowly licked his lips. "Delicious. It's making me hungry."

Magnus nodded and turned back to the stove. "It should be done in another hour. All that's left is to build the—." He turned around and was met with Alec's mouth on his.

The explosion was instantaneous. He heard a groan from afar, felt Alec's nails digging into his lower back, fingers scouring all over his body, feverishly seeking to touch, tongue and teeth clashing, their bodies straining, until Magnus cupped Alec's face with the palm of his hands, sank his fingers into his hair and ran them through the strands, gentling the kiss bit by bit, until Alec vibrated in place, and the kiss tempered from blazing inferno to a gentle heat.

He tasted tomato sauce and spice, peaches and apples, a bit of chocolate too. Everything Alexander had snacked on, on their trip to the market. But he also tasted Alec, that warm, intoxicating, potent taste that could only be Alexander Lightwood.

Magnus wrapped his hands around Alec's lips and lifted him up, swallowing down the whimper that accompanied it, giving a satisfied grunt when Alec in response, wrapped those long legs around Magnus' waist.

Walking slowly, all the while still kissing him, he walked them backwards, until they got to the counter, and then set Alec down. Without breaking the kiss, he pushed away the pans and the dishes around them, blind and deaf to the clatter they made as they crashed to the ground, focused on mapping every inch of Alec's mouth, tongue dipping in, and then out, chuckling against Alec's lips when Alec gave a frustrated growl at the teasing, and then yelping when Alec pinched him, then pulled his head down so they could continue kissing.

He kept one hand in Alec's hair, fingers running through the strands, his other hand making his way into Alec's pants, fingers working through the buttons fast, eager to get to the warm skin beneath it all, when he heard the sound of a throat being cleared.

He didn't think. Just reached for one of the butcher's knife, and sent it flying backwards, didn't even look back to see which of his friends couldn't respect his privacy and had waltzed right into his apartment again.

A satisfied thrill went through him as he heard the knife lodge itself in the wall by the door, and went back to kissing Alec, sinking back into the moment as fast as he could. Now it was Alec's fingers making their way to unbutton his jeans, fingers dancing close to the bulge of his dick and Magnus forgot how to breathe when—.

"Ragnor is dead."

Magnus froze. His heart stopped and his world bled white as he slowly lowered Alec to the ground and turned around to meet Raphael, mouth dry, fingers clammy as he hoped that it was all a joke, that he hadn't heard right. But then he saw the pain and devastation, plain as day on Raphael's face and his stomach dropped.

"What did you say?"

"Ragnor is dead." The pain flooded him again, even more so because he could read it reflected on Raphael's face. Pain and shock and denial and distress. But then the pain morphed into rage and Raphael pointed at Magnus, no beyond Magnus, at Alec. "And his brother's the one that killed him."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warned you that it was going to be bloody. Anyway, let me know what you think? It inspires me to keep writing. I'm on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/themagnus_bane). You can also find me on [Tumblr](http://themagnusbane.tumblr.com/). And please stay awesome, loved, and if you believe in that, blessed.

**Author's Note:**

> And that's the end of chapter one. Fingers crossed that you like it :). Have comments, questions or you just want to scream whilst you scream for there to be dishonour on my cow and my family (hehehehehehe), find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/killmongerrawme). I promise I don't bite ;). If you'd rather look for me on tumblr (where I have shortish cannon based drabbles: they range from 600 words to 1.3k), you can find me [here](http://themagnusbane.tumblr.com/). Just go to the "My Writing" page and enjoy.


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